Ursa Major
by ICT-PDX-PHX
Summary: "Sometimes Uther wondered whether he was angrier at Nimueh for his wife's death in childbirth, or that the child in question turned out to be a girl." In which Ursula Pendragon is the heir apparent to Camelot, Merilinn is not sure she loves being the dedicated protectress of Her Royal Dollop-Head, and Gaia is just trying to keep everyone alive. Fem!Merlin. Fem!Arthur.
1. Chapter 1

**Ursa Major**

"Sire," the physician said, "forgive me, but you are being absurd."

There was the expected flash of anger as King Uther turned and pinned his court physician with a glare that had quailed friends and enemies both. But Gaia Velia was made of sterner stuff. "Absurd, am I? To be worried about the state of Camelot after I die?"

"There would be less need to worry," Gaia said, "if you would take the obvious course of action and make Ursula your heir."

Uther pushed away from the table with a huff of frustration. "Now _you_ are the one being absurd. I shall be the laughingstock of every kingdom in Albion if I make a girl my heir. We shall be seen as weak."

"I see," Gaia said quietly, "so it is your pride that prevents you."

Uther leveled a finger of his gloved hand at her face. She did not blink, but met his eyes steadily. "Watch yourself, Gaia," he said. He let his hand drop. "You speak of my pride as if it is not to be countenanced," he said, "but you know as well as I that appearances-pride, if you will-is often the only thing that keeps a kingdom's enemies at bay. If we are seen to be weak, we leave ourselves open to attack. If I name Ursula my heir," he continued, "There will forever be male relatives coming out of the woodwork, looking to depose her. There will forever be patsies for my enemies to set up as the true heir to Camelot. And that is only from without the kingdom. What perils, what difficulties will she have to face from within it?"

"And yet you named me court physician in the face of all tradition and common sense," Gaia reminded him. "You declared it, and so it was."

"It is certainly not as simple as that," Uther said, his tone softening. "You have proven your worth as a physician time and time again. That is down to your deeds, not to my words. But what deeds can Ursula perform to earn the trust of the people of Camelot? I can hardly send her out to duel at tournaments, nor lead the Knights in border raids."

"True," Gaia conceded, "although my Lord Morgan may beg to differ."

Uther smiled indulgently. He'd always had a soft spot for Morgan, his ward. As children, he and Ursula had sparred together with wooden swords, he showing her the parries and blows he'd learned on the training ground. All in fun, of course; but as they got older the lessons somehow took on more gravity. The wooden play weapons gave way to blunt training swords, then finally the real thing, and Her Highness showed real-though untested-skill. Uther had at first made halfhearted noise about propriety, but had never truly objected. Once, Gaia had even heard him defend the practice to a venerable council member. "The princess must have the capacity to defend herself if needed," he'd said. "I'll have no helpless flowers at _my_ court."

"Perhaps," he said now, "but even you cannot deny the uproar that would arise if I sent a woman out to defend the realm. And she's somewhat out of the peoples' eye here in these walls."

Gaia did not say what they both knew, which was that if Ursula was a boy, there would be no need for her to be in the peoples' eye, no need for her to gain their trust. Such a prince would take their trust for granted.

"But not out of your councillors' eyes," Gaia said, "nor out of yours. Or is there some reason I'm not aware of for why you've been giving her lessons in statecraft since she was old enough to see over the table?"

"Allowing her in the chambers while the council is in session is hardly 'lessons in statecraft,'" Uther protested, but only half-heartedly, as if they didn't both know that he questioned her on the proceedings later.

"Then maybe that ought to change-publicly," Gaia said. "She is sixteen years old. A son of yours would already have a seat on the council."

Uther huffed a laugh, looked at her. "Has anyone ever told you how incorrigible you are?"

Gaia smiled back. "Will you promise to at least think about it?"

"Don't you have duties to get back to?" Uther asked.

Gaia dropped into a shallow curtsey. "Sire."

Uther watched her leave, then turned back to the window with a heavy sigh. He loved his daughter, he did, truly. But sometimes he wondered whether he was angrier with Nimueh for his wife's death in childbirth, or that the child in question turned out to be a girl.

…

"You've done well with them." Ursula leaned against the battlements next to Morgan, who was watching two trainee knights on the field below.

"Calder and Brilane," Morgan said, straightening. "They're making good progress. They'll be competing to be Her Majesty's personal guard within the month."

Morgan's tone was light, teasing, but he still didn't look at her. "Those babies?" she said. "Why, they're younger than I am."

"Yes, well," Morgan said, watching as Calder and Brilane swapped places with two other trainees, "these nobles have to dispose of their younger sons somehow."

Ursula frowned. This wasn't right. "I've been wanting to talk to you," she said, "but you're a hard man to track down all of a sudden. I feel I've hardly seen you since-" she trailed off. Two weeks before, on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, Uther had formally named her heir to the throne of Camelot. Morgan was not the only one who had been treating her differently since. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she felt it should have been different with Morgan. "Tell me truly," she said, "do you feel it should have been you? After all, you're a man, and the king's ward. It wouldn't have been much of a stretch to-"

Morgan looked at her then, a look she didn't like on the face of the man she thought of as an older brother. "Certainly not," he said, interrupting her. He laughed a bit, and Ursula pretended she had only imagined the earlier expression on his face. "I've all I can handle leading the Knights. I don't envy you the petitions and the reports and the council meetings that go on foreeeev-" Morgan lolled his head back and imitated snoring.

Ursula laughed. "Good. Then in that case, I shall expect my fencing master to give me further training in technique this afternoon."

Again that unpleasant, assessing look, gone as quickly as it came. "Do you really think that's-" he looked out over the battlements again. "I don't know if it's a good idea for me to be giving you these lessons anymore," he said. "People might get the wrong idea."

"The wrong-" Ursula took a moment, shoved the anger down tight. "You're worried about propriety? Really? We grew up together, Morgan."

"Yes, but-Ursula, you're not just the Princess anymore. You're the Crown Princess. Everyone is watching, now more than ever. Things are different."

Different. Ursula's heart sunk at his words, even as she knew they were true. "Very well,"

she said, "if people are watching, then let us give them something to see. I shall begin training with the knights on the morrow. Here in the courtyard in broad daylight, there can hardly be any rumors of impropriety."

This time, Morgan's expression was one of shock. "Ursula, the king-"

"-will just have to accept it," Ursula said, setting her jaw. "Morgan, I hardly intend to lead the Knights in battle. That's your job. But if I'm going to order them to give their lives for me, I should at least know what they plan on doing to defend it, don't you think?"

Morgan shook his head, but he was smiling. "You're an insane person, do you know that?"

"Is that any way to address the future queen?" she said archly over her shoulder, as she took her leave. As she descended the stairs, she was almost able to convince herself that Morgan's strange behavior was all on account of things being _different_ due to her new status. He'd get used to it. They both would.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

It was times like these, Gaia reflected, as another candle spluttered out in a puddle of its own wax, that she missed magic. It was easy to think of magic in terms of grand gestures and stupendous displays. But it was the little cantrips-the heatless tongues of flames following one about from task to task, the whisk that stirred itself, the water that was always just the right temperature for one's bath, the easy, everyday spells that made life just a little sweeter-that was where one felt the lack.

She sighed and lit another candle. Ratchett, the steward's assistant, was forever complaining that she used too many. But her eyes were none too bright anymore, and when else was she to conduct and compile her research but at night? Her days were filled with her duties-compounding poultices and potions, making her rounds, attending to the sick and injured as needed.

Perhaps when Balinor's daughter came-what was her name, again? Perhaps the girl could take over some of her more mundane tasks. She'd been surprised to receive Balinor's letter; it had been a long time since she'd seen him. But he'd been a good friend, once, before things went-well, before. And she was looking forward to meeting what's-her-name.

She paused, her pen hovering over the inkwell on her cluttered desk. The relentless banging outside her chambers was distracting and she tried to ignore it, but still her eyes were drawn out the window to the scaffold where some poor accused would lose his head in the morning. A sorcerer, of course-hardly any other crime merited death in Uther's Camelot.

She sighed, moved the candle away from a precarious stack of parchment. Heatless flame. Hot bathwater. Gentle words that knit skin faster, made sleep easier, stanched the flow of blood. These were the evils she had forsaken in the name of Uther's Camelot. In the name of keeping her own head attached to her shoulders.

She resolutely put these morbid thoughts aside and buried herself in her work. She was good at that. And when the girl came, she would be free to do so even more.

…

It was clear from the moment Merilinn met Gaia that her father had not told the old doctor everything about her. Well, anything about her. Merilinn hadn't _meant_ to use magic approximately twelve minutes into her arrival at Camelot-after witnessing an execution, no less-but what was she supposed to do, let the old lady break her neck?

It was just as well. Her father had said Gaia could be trusted. Better to get it all out in the open right away. Never mind that Gaia was not best pleased, and had put her to work more or less immediately, sending her out to deliver various medicines with more admonishments than Merilinn thought were strictly necessary to _not_, under any circumstances, use her powers.

_As if I need any reminders_, she thought, as she passed through the courtyard which had just yesterday played host to a dying man. She slowed as she passed the training yards. A young knight stood to the fore of a knot of others, holding a bow. With a shock of realization, Merilinn realized that this was no knight at all, but must in fact be the Princess Ursula. Rumors had reached even Ealdor of the beautiful princess who insisted on training with her own knights.

Merilinn watched her notch the arrow to the bow. A dark-haired man, standing slightly behind her and to her left, gave her some instruction and the princess adjusted her stance. She let the arrow fly.

Merilinn watched its path across the field until it buried itself in a wooden shield. That was when Merilinn realized that the shield was being held not by a frame but by a person-a cowering servant hardly more than a boy.

So this was the glorious, much-vaunted Camelot. Men with powers like hers were killed in the marketplace and spoiled nobles shot arrows at servants for fun.

She didn't realize she'd walked out onto the field until she'd already done it. She stopped and looked at Princess Ursula and the group of knights. She saw confusion crease the princess's face; then she and three knights made her way towards her. They did it slowly, insouciantly. Merilinn recognized that she was being made to feel that she was no priority of theirs.

"Are you daft?" Ursula called. "Do you wish to be shot?"

"I certainly do not," Merilinn replied. "And neither does he." She indicated the boy behind the shield, who was peeking nervously at them.

Ursula's eyes widened. "I see," she said, drawing out the syllables, inviting the knights to laugh. "Well, since you're so concerned for his well-being, why don't you take his place?"

Merilinn looked the princess up and down. She was certainly as lovely as everyone said-tall, statuesque in the armor made especially for her, shining golden hair plaited and bound round her head like a coronet. She certainly didn't _look_ like she ought to be a complete prig. But as Merilinn had learned the hard way, sometimes the most vicious bullies were dressed up in the nicest packages.

There was evidently something less than respectful on Merilinn's face, because the princess's chin went up, her cheeks colored, and she called across the field, "You there! Bradford! This chit of a girl is going to take over for awhile."

Bradford slowly lowered the shield, looking nervously from Ursula to Merilinn. It was Ursula's turn to give Merilinn a once-over, and Merilinn suddenly felt even smaller than her five feet; she felt every inch the plain, thin, awkward country girl. She felt her magic gather under her skin and ruthlessly pushed it back down. It was enough just to know that she could bash this arrogant prig's face in with her mind. She smirked to think of it.

"Something amusing, mouse?" Ursula asked, generations of contempt in her tone.

"Oh, nothing, my lady" Merilinn snapped, dropping an ironic curtsy. "It's just that I was always taught that the upper class had...well..._class_."

…

"Is there some reason why I shouldn't leave you right where you are?"

Merilinn looked up at Gaia from her mean pile of straw in the castle dungeons, feeling disoriented. "It wasn't you calling my name just now, was it?"

"What?" Gaia frowned, then shook her head. "My dear, I'm coming to realize that it's difficult for you to keep one thought in your head for any length of time, but do try to pay attention. I've half a mind to let you feel the hospitality of the dungeons for another night or so just to let the lesson sink into that skull of yours." She sighed, eyeing Merilinn with exasperation. "However, against my better judgement, I have arranged for your release. With conditions, of course."

Which was how Merilinn found herself with her head in the stocks, being used as handy entertainment for the local children. An inauspicious beginning, but at least one that let her keep her head, as well as her position with Gaia.

"It was brave of you to stick up for that boy."

Merilinn craned her neck. A handsome, dark-skinned man grinned at her. She became acutely aware of her humiliating position at the moment, the smear of rotten marrow on her face and in her hair. "Thank you," she said.

"Stupid," he continued, "but brave."

Merilinn felt a flush of anger and with it, a burst of temptation to use magic to free herself, stand up, and walk away from Camelot forever. "Tell me, does the princess always behave like a stuck-up little prig playing dress-up?"

"You do have a mouth on you, don't you?" the man said. "The Princess Ursula is hardly playing dress-up, and you should not underestimate her. She works hard to prove herself on the field. Works hard in every respect, if you see what I mean."

Merilinn did see. It was not difficult to understand that a woman trying to fit in with a group of knights might try overhard to prove herself as one of them-crude, bullying tricks and all. "All the same," she grumbled.

The man laughed. "All the same, indeed. When we meet properly, my name is Jens. Lord Morgan's manservant."

"Merilinn," she said. "Physician's dogsbody."

"Until next time, then, Merilinn," Jens said, and disappeared from her line of sight.

…

The king kept a dragon in his basement, because of course he did. He was that kind of man.

The dragon told her things she did not want to hear, things she did not really believe-or so she told herself. That pilgarlic of a princess the Once and Future Queen? She herself, a little nothing who couldn't even cast a spell without risking death, _she_ was destined to be Ursula's dedicated protectress?

And yet, who could disbelieve the words of a dragon? A great and terrible creature from the depths of time. What possible benefit would such a one derive from lying to the likes of her?

"You're wrong," she protested feebly. "You're wrong about this. I'm nothing-I'm nobody. I'm less than nobody. I just got out of the stocks three hours ago-the stocks that _Ursula_ put me in!"

"There is no right or wrong," the dragon said. "There is only what is and what isn't."

Merilinn frowned; this was not what her father had taught her. Do no evil and help those who need it, that was Balinor's mantra. Not this stern bloviating about destiny at any cost.

The dragon saw her distaste and grinned, showing his gleaming, pointed teeth. "You cannot escape your destiny, my girl," he said. "Better to accept it, and take your place at Ursula's side."

"At Ursula's side!" Merilinn cried. "That spoiled showoff wouldn't let me within ten feet of her royal person!"

"We shall see," the dragon replied calmly.

It couldn't be true.

It wasn't true.

But there was an enchantress who sent the court to sleep, an enchantress with a knife who stood on the verge of plunging it into Ursula's heart, and Merilinn, the only one not affected by the spell, had one brief, unworthy thought-_I should let her drive that knife into the heart of Uther's daughter_-before she took Ursula by the back of her fine gown and jerked her out of the way. _Do no evil,_ her father's voice said, as if into her ear.

The spell was broken, the knife plunged harmlessly into the wood of the table, and King Uther made Merilinn his daughter's personal maidservant, all within the space of a moment. She stood next to the princess and heard the king's pronouncement; she and Ursula exchanged started glances, united, for once, in surprise. Merilinn's mind flashed back to the dragon's words. _Better to accept it and take your place at Ursula's side._ And then her father was there as well: _Help those who need it._

It couldn't be true.

Unless it was.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

Ursula's voice was one of strained calm. "You really have no idea what you are doing, do you?"

Merilinn met Ursula's eyes in the mirror. She stood behind the princess, who was seated in front of her vanity, shining hair unbound, waiting for Merilinn to dress it.

Merilinn's hands hovered over the wealth of yellow hair, unwilling even to touch it lest she tangle it beyond repair. "Of course not. I'm from Ealdor. What, do you think my father gave me lessons in hairdressing?"

Ursula tipped her head back and closed her eyes. "This is a disaster."

Merilinn let her hands drop. "I quite agree. You should talk to your father. I could go back to my position with Gaia and everybody would be happy."

Ursula turned around to look at her directly, face creased in indignation. "I shall, though not because you tell me I should. What possible need have I for a maidservant as impudent and incompetent as you?"

"What need have I to serve a prig like you?" Merilinn shot back, stung.

Ursula's eyes widened, but her mouth was twitching into a smile of disbelief, almost, it seemed, in spite of itself. "_No one _ talks to me like that," she said. "Perhaps I should throw you back into the stocks!"

"I'll survive," Merilinn replied, as haughtily as she could.

"Oh, get out," Ursula snapped. "I'll call one of the other maidservants to assist me."

"Fine," said Merilinn.

"Fine," said Ursula. "Leave. I shall have you replaced immediately. Tidy my chambers before you go."

It never happened. Something always got in the way. Almost every morning, Ursula resolved to have Merilinn kicked to the curb, even banished from Camelot altogether. But there were a thousand other things on the crown princess's mind; a tournament in which the odds-on favorite almost killed Morgan with magic; a terrible plague that killed in a day and disappeared as quickly as it came; Cenred's men perpetually menacing the border; her father's mood swings to navigate. Morgan, who used to be her ally in this last, suddenly seemed to be as moody as Uther. At the end of the day, Ursula found that she never had time to replace her prickly, audacious maidservant. At the end of the day, Ursula found she was almost looking forward to seeing her again the following morning, when she would invariably stumble in late. Almost. If only Merilinn wasn't so embarrassingly bad at-well-everything. Bad at everything except getting fired, that is.

...

This was where her mettle as future queen was tested, she thought, as she watched Merilinn die for her in Gaia's chambers.

"Father," she had said, resisting the urge to tear her hair out in frustration and anger, "she saved my life."

"And she will hardly be the first to die for you," he'd snapped, impatient. "Ursula, my girl, your womanly feelings do you credit. But if you are to rule, you must learn to put yourself above others. That is the way of kings-and queens. I shall not send Morgan out to risk his life for a mere servant."

Morgan held back, waited for Uther to exit the hall. "Ursula," he said, urgently, "I would go. I need you to believe I would go, if I could." There was sincerity in his gaze, his intense blue-black eyes.

"Lord Morgan!" Uther's voice snapped from outside the hall. "I have need of you!"

Morgan's mouth pressed into a thin line; it was an expression Ursula had grown used to seeing when her foster-brother was around Uther. It made her uneasy, but she had no time to dwell on it now.

"I shall go myself," Ursula said.

She had not known she would really go until she said it. Morgan met her eyes, and for a moment, a brief moment, they were siblings again, united against one of Uther's whims.

"Your maidservant," Morgan hesitated, as if afraid his words would be misconstrued, "your maidservant is a rare gift. I wonder if you know that."

"She's a bloody terrible servant," Ursula said, indulging in a moment's profanity.

"But a bloody good person," Morgan said.

"Lord Morgan!" Uther barked once again.

"Go," Ursula said. "You needn't worry. I know what to do. You have trained me well."

"Be careful," Morgan said, and was gone.

She went back to Gaia's chambers one last time, dressed in her armor. It was none so easy to put it on herself. Jens and Gaia were both there. "How is she?" Ursula asked.

"She grows worse," Gaia said tersely. "Her fever climbs. My lady, if you truly intend to go, you have four days. Maybe less."

Ursula looked at Merilinn. She appeared even smaller than she really was, shrunken and weak, silent and still, face drawn and gray but for two bright spots of fever high on both cheeks. This was the girl who barely managed to complete her daily tasks, who did not know even the basics of waiting on a highborn lady, the girl who had taken a goblet and drunk poison for her without one moment of hesitation.

This, she thought, as she looked at her dying maidservant, this was where her mettle as future queen was tested. If she could not reward such loyalty, then what was she?

Jens was looking at her; there was respect on his face. She barely knew him. He was Morgan's servant, so she knew _of_ him, of course, but they had rarely spoken. Now she felt that his opinion mattered, and she was not sure why.

She nodded curtly to Gaia, who murmured, "be careful, my lady," and strode from the physician's chambers. Before she exited onto the courtyard, she placed her helmet over her head, rendering her indistinguishable from any other knight of the realm. No one would dare accost her as such. She rode from the city. She rode into danger for Merilinn, and she did not look back.

...

"My lady," the girl gasped in admiration, "you are as good as a knight."

"I _am_ a knight," Ursula corrected.

She wasn't, of course, for she was a year short of twenty-one; and even when she came of age she was far from sure if her father would formally knight her. But this was what knights did, wasn't it? Saved damsels in distress? Protected the weak and innocent? It was an exhilarating feeling; no wonder the other knights were forever champing at the bit to ride out. And the girl was nice enough, big eyes looking at her in unadulterated hero-worship.

"Cor!" the girl said, "a lady knight! Fancy!"

Now wouldn't it be pleasant, Ursula thought idly, if sometimes-just sometimes, mind, the boys must have their fun too-the person needing saving was a handsome man. A gentleman in distress, if you will. She shook herself out of this reverie with a small sigh. She was here for a reason.

"I know these woods," the girl was saying. "I can help you."

She did not help her. The innocent peasant girl with the big eyes and the sad tale led her to a precipice and tried to kill her with magic. "Ursula of Camelot," the girl said, almost wistfully. "I'm really very disappointed, you know. I had hoped-ah, but no matter."

"For God's sake, stop nattering and kill me, if that's your aim!" Ursula snapped.

But the girl only laughed. Laughed and faded away, taking the light with her. It was dark. It was so dark. It was so very dark, and far away Merilinn was going to die.

She pressed against the cliff face, felt the splinter-thin ledge crumble away beneath her toes. _Be honest with yourself, Ursula,_ she said to herself. _You wanted a quest more than you wanted to help Merilinn._ Wanted that glory. Wanted that exhilaration. And now, it seemed, she would have neither the glory nor Merilinn's life.

…

There was a strange swirl of sounds and light. She heard Gaia, reedy voice sharp, commanding. _That voice means a patient is in trouble. _She heard Jens, a low rumble of sound, close and comforting. For a moment, she thought she heard the princess. Ursula's voice sounded urgent and strained. Something was wrong. She should help. She needed to-

But then there was sudden raging fire; she cried out, cringed away from it, and it turned abruptly to ice, filling her veins, her limbs, her lungs. She gasped, twisted, tried to breathe-

All was dark.

The darkness pressed against her. The fire had burned itself out, destroying everything, leaving oblivion. The world was encased in ice, silent and black, and she was trapped, alone-

Not alone.

Someone else was there, someone else lost in the dark. Someone who should not be there. Someone she needed to help. Ursula.

_Ursula._

"Do no evil," her father said. "Help those who need it."

"I'm trying," Merilinn protested, "but it's too dark!"

_Ursula, follow me._

The darkness pressed against them; it did not want Merilinn's light. She pressed back and the darkness gave way.

_Ursula, follow me home_.

Ursula did not want to come. She wanted something before she left this cursed place, this place of death.

_No! Leave it! Follow me!_

Ursula would not leave it. She would have this-this _thing_, this unimportant _flower_-

_Hurry!_

…

Ursula climbed.

Tendrils of hair fell loose from their plaits; they stuck to the sweat on her face, on the back of her neck. Her arms trembled as she pulled herself up, up, always up, following the light, though she could not be sure whether she followed it to her death. When it brought her out into the blessed world, the clean sweet world under the moon and stars, she fell prone onto the ground, breathing hard.

Presently she drew herself up, staggering to her feet, feeling as weak and shaky as a newborn colt. The spider creatures had not followed her; it seemed they were creatures of the dark. She peered down into the hole in the earth, the rock wall she had just climbed in full armor. She looked at the bruised but intact bunch of flowers in her hand.

She had her glory.

And Merilinn would live.

…

Morgan's eyes were sharp and proud. "You did it. Ursula, you did it."

Ursula smiled a little uncertainly. She'd had a lot of time to think while she was being taught a lesson in the dungeons. "Yes, but-I'm not sure I really did."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "I beg your pardon? Is your servant not alive because of what you did?"

"

Yes, but-" Ursula shook her head, confused. She could hardly tell Morgan-anyone, really-that she'd followed a benevolent ball of magical light out from certain doom and back into the world of the living. "I had help. Lots of it."

"Well, good," Morgan said. "It was a worthy quest. It deserved help. How are your arms, by the way?"

"I have hope that I may be able to lift them above my head again one day," Ursula said ruefully. Every muscle in her body was shouting their anger at the abuse she'd put them through. She'd ask Gaia for a tonic. No, she'd ask Merilinn to ask Gaia for a tonic. Servants had to do something, hadn't they?

…

Merilinn brushed the long, golden hair one hundred times from scalp to end, just like she did every morning before fetching Alma to finish dressing Ursula's hair. But this time, when she had drawn the brush through for the hundredth time, she did not leave. Instead, heart hammering, she placed the brush on the vanity table, took up three strands of hair near Ursula's temple, and commenced to plait.

Ursula jumped. "Merilinn, what on earth do you think you are doing?"

"I can do it," Merilinn said determinedly. "I've been practicing. Stop pulling!"

"Practicing!" Ursula said. "On what? Horse tails?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Merilinn said, "The grooms won't let me near the stables for some reason."

"Isn't that a mystery," Ursula deadpanned. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"One of Gaia's patients in the lower town," Merilinn said. "A little girl. Her hair is like yours."

"Whatever did you say to that poor child to make her entrust her hair to _you_?" Ursula asked.

"I wish you would stop peppering me with questions," Merilinn said. "I'm trying to concentrate. But if you must know, all I had to do was give her a sweet from the palace kitchen and ask if she'd like to look like the princess. She could not say yes fast enough."

"Oh," Ursula said.

_You dishonor your position as heir to the throne to go out on some harebrained scheme to save a mere servant. How do you expect people to respect your position above them if you do not behave as if you are above them?_

Her father had said that, and much more besides. _I have allowed you to train with the knights, but now I've a mind to put a stop to it. Riding out alone, astride, in your armor! Have you any idea how people will talk? _

_Would you seriously have had me sit before the fire doing embroidery while the girl who drank poison for me died in agony?_ She'd said. The bars between her and her father emboldened her somehow, made her say things she never would have otherwise. _Is that the action of a future queen?_

Uther had been furious_. A future queen does not embarrass herself in front of her subjects, Ursula, and you will stay here until you realize that!_

She had watched him go, righteous and majestic, treading on the flower that would save a woman's life. Later, when she could think of such things, she remembered what he said. She compared his words to the look of respect on Jens's face, to the way the people in the lower town smiled now as they bowed or curtsyed to her, sometimes adding a "well met, Milady," as if they really meant it. Before, they had always looked away when they saw her approach, as if afraid.

_How do you expect people to respect your position above them if you do not behave as if you are above them? Have you any idea how people will talk?_

_All I had to do was ask if she'd like to look like the princess._

Merilinn had plaited and bound her hair while Ursula was lost in thought. It had taken her longer than Alma and she'd used almost twice as many pins, some of which were sticking directly into Ursula's scalp. She looked at Merilinn in the mirror; the girl was nervously eyeing Ursula's hair and wringing her hands ever so slightly. Then Merilinn met her eyes and they looked at each other for a long moment, not mistress and servant, not royal and commoner. Could two people who had willingly risked their lives for each other really be anything less than friends?

Ursula tilted her head back and forth. "It will do," she said.

Merilinn stepped back and dropped into a curtsy. "My lady," she said. There was no hint of impudence in action or word.

The moment was over, but something had changed. Everything had changed.

.

.

.

.

.

**A/N: Thank you for the follows and faves! If you are enjoying this story-and even if you're not-I would so appreciate it if you'd drop me a quick review! Feedback means a lot, even if it's just "Pretty good" or "Too long, DNF." Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

"Why," Merilinn said, staring up at the horse which seemed to loom above her like a giant. "Why are you making me do this?"

Ursula studied the horse in relation to her very diminutive maidservant. She'd requisitioned the smallest horse in the stables that wasn't actually a pony, but now she was seriously reconsidering. "Because, Merilinn," she said, pushing any second thoughts aside, "not being able to ride is a serious shortcoming in a lady's maid. Now be quiet, I'm trying to decide whether you ought to learn to ride astride or sidesaddle."

Merilinn made an inarticulate noise in the back of her throat, but subsided.

"Astride, I think," Ursula finally decreed, gesturing for one of the grooms to put the saddle on Merilinn's horse, a gentle mare with a soft mouth. "My father is not one for riding out in state with the whole court. I think it unlikely that you'll need to ride in procession with me, at least not anytime soon."

"But I'll need to ride into...what? Battle?" Merilinn squeaked, backing out of the groom's way as he handled the horse's gear.

"Don't be absurd," Ursula said. "Clumsy as you are, you'd clothesline yourself on a tree branch before you managed to stab anybody."

"Have you ever stabbed anybody?" Merilinn asked with interest.

The groom, Corwin, coughed diffidently and subsided, both womens' horses saddled and bridled.

Ursula glared at Merilinn and pulled herself onto her own horse, Alfreda. "Take the reins in both hands," she instructed. "Merilinn. Both hands. Stop worrying, she's not going to walk off. Corwin will hold her for you if you're really that nervous." She nodded at Corwin, who stepped forward and took the horse's bridle. "Now put your foot into the stirrup. Merilinn. Your left foot. Why would you put your right f-never mind. Put your left foot into the stirrup and-don't let go of the reins! What is wrong with you! Yes. Right. Your horse is not going to move out from under y-there! You're sitting on a horse, now was that so terrible?"

"I am," Merilinn said breathlessly, "_so_ far off the ground."

"For heaven's sake, Merilinn," Ursula said, "aren't you from the countryside? How is it that you've never ridden a horse?"

"The horses in my village are for plowing," Merilinn said, sitting ramrod straight and trying not to breathe. "You lead them, you don't ride them. Or they pull wagons. I can drive a wagon. Do you need a field plowed? I can do that."

"Ye Gods," Ursula muttered under her breath some time later, watching her maidservant bounce around in the saddle like a sack of flour. "That poor horse."

…

The following morning, Gaia gave into Merilinn's pleas to send her on some errand-any errand-to avoid a second riding lesson. "She shan't give it up you know," Gaia warned, handing her a basket. "But if you're really so keen to delay the inevitable, I happened to notice that the chestnut mushrooms are coming to season."

It was a hard draw, Merilinn reflected, struggling to reach for her magic while running for her life from a monster that clearly wanted a morning snack, whether she would prefer her current predicament or enduring another morning of torture atop a horse. As the horse had not yet tried to eat her liver, she supposed the latter. Not that it mattered now.

She barely had an impression of the stranger who stepped between her and the monster-armored, but not a knight, menacing the creature with her sword until it broke-

_Her_ sword?

There was no time to dwell on this before the stranger had grasped Merilinn by the arm and pulled her into hiding behind some felled logs. When the creature's cries had faded into the distance and Merilinn could think again, she took stock of herself. She'd lost her basket; the mushrooms for Gaia lay bruised on the ground or scattered to the four winds. Her ribs ached where she'd fallen trying to run from the creature; her left shoulder wrenched nearly from its socket from where the stranger had snatched her up and dragged her to safety.

The woman beside her stood up cautiously and looked to the skies, sword still drawn. Merilinn looked up at her in undisguised curiosity. She reminded her of Ursula a little, though the two did not look alike-the stranger being dark, with hair cropped off at the chin rather than bound around her head. Her armor was slightly ill-fitting, the pieces mismatched, but well kept, not a speck of rust or particle of old dirt upon it. It was her bearing that did it, Merilinn thought; the way the stranger carried herself-with confidence and grace. That was what made her think of Ursula.

"I think it's gone," the stranger said. She offered Marilinn her hand. "I'm Lana."

Merilinn accepted her hand and introduced herself. "Thank you for your timely arrival."

Lana waved her hand as if impatient. "I'm only sorry I could not kill it. This monster has been ravaging the countryside."

"King Uther and Lord Morgan rode out this morning to survey the damage," Merilinn said. "If the Knights of Camelot cannot kill it, no one can."

Lana turned bright, hopeful eyes to her. "And Her Highness? The Princess Ursula? She rides too?"

Merilinn shook her head. "The princess does not ride with the knights," she said. "She only trains with them, and sometimes-" she cut off, unwilling to share with this stranger what Ursula's first,

unsanctioned quest had consisted of. "Sometimes she rides in routine patrols," she finished. It was a little bit true. Sometimes Ursula persuaded Morgan to let her accompany him on such patrols, but only if Uther were preoccupied and she knew she could return before she was missed. "Cover for me, won't you, Merilinn?" she would blithely order, before leaving. It was only by the skin of her teeth that Merilinn had never had to.

Lana's disappointment was palpable. "Oh," she said. "I had heard-" she looked towards Camelot with undisguised longing upon her face, and suddenly Merilinn understood-where else would a lady who longed to be a knight go but to Camelot? Where else would she have even the barest ghost of a chance? "I had heard different," Lana finished.

"If you're headed to Camelot, you should come with me," Merilinn said, her heart going out to this brave stranger. "You can stay with me for awhile. I live in the palace complex."

"You're a royal servant?" Lana asked, as they turned to make their way back to the city.

"I'm Princess Ursula's personal maidservant," Merilinn said, grinning at the hope that suddenly bloomed upon and overcame Lana's face. "And do you know," she continued, "I think she'd be very interested to meet you."

...

"Merilinn," Gaia said, when Lana was settled on a spare pallet in Merilinn's room, "sit down."

Gaia's voice was gentle, which set off alarm bells in Merilinn's head. It was her "we need to have a serious and difficult discussion" voice. It was her "please do not do the very stupid thing that you so badly wish to do" voice. It was no good trying to avoid the conversation, either. She could never excuse her way out of a conversation with Gaia.

"What exactly are you planning?" Gaia asked, when Merilinn had sat down at the table.

Merilinn hesitated. The truth was, she was not really sure what she was planning. "I just want to help her," she said. "She saved my life."

Gaia sighed and sat down next to her ward. "Perhaps encouraging her ambition to become a knight is not the best way to help her," she pointed out. "Suppose you introduce Lana to Princess Ursula. Suppose Ursula is impressed with her. Suppose she goes to her father and encourages him to allow her to compete for knighthood."

Then King Uther would wave his hand in that way he had that meant his time was being wasted by fools, and he would look at Ursula in disappointment bordering on contempt. No, he would never consider a woman knight, and Ursula would know this-know it so well that she would never bring such a petition to him. In fact, she would almost certainly be angry with Merilinn for bringing Lana to her attention in the first place.

"Suppose I do not introduce her to Ursula at all?" Merilinn said. "Suppose I go to Jens and ask him to get a spare helmet from his father's smithy?"

Gaia followed her train of thought. "You propose to have her disguise herself as a man."

"Well, if she can't compete for knighthood as a woman, then...?"

Gaia rubbed her forehead. "Merilinn."

"It's not fair!" Merilinn burst out, standing from the bench. She remembered Lana sleeping in the next room and lowered her voice. "It's just not fair. She fought that creature as well as any knight. Why shouldn't she compete? Camelot should be glad to have her."

"You are quite correct," Gaia said, "it is not at all fair. It just is."

Merilinn blew out her breath, frustrated. "Gaia, how did you become royal physician?"

Gaia raised her eyebrows at the question, then seemed to understand. "Well, there was hardly a competition," she said dryly.

"But you are a woman in a man's position," Merilinn pressed. "So is Ursula, come to that."

Gaia sighed. "Ursula is the heir to Camelot by accident of birth, and not by any particular good will of Uther's," she said. "I am the royal physician because in the great wars against Vortigern, my father, the previous royal physician, was killed as he administered aid to the wounded and I, his assistant, took his place. In the heat and chaos of battle, no one had time to object-all anybody wanted was a pair of healing hands. By the time things had settled, everyone was used to me. So you might say both Ursula and I came into our positions by chance and accident. It is not so with Lana."

Merilinn did not reply.

"Merilinn," Gaia said, "please promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"I won't do anything stupid," Merilinn said heavily.

"Good girl," Gaia said, standing. "Now hand me that willow bark. Two other young fools are competing for knighthood tomorrow, which means I'll have a dozen aches and pains to treat."

…

Jens eyed the three would-be knights lined up at the side of the field with a critical eye. He was no fighter himself, but he'd spent countless hours on the training field attending Lord Morgan, and he fancied he could tell which of them might have the mettle to pass through the rigorous training, and which would wash out in half a moment.

_No_, he thought, watching as one of the young men tossed his head back, combing gloved hands through his hair before he put on his helmet. _No_, he thought, when the other tried to put his sword in his scabbard but missed due to nerves. His gaze fell on the last knight, who stood slightly apart from the others, ramrod straight, helmet already on his head, hand on the hilt of his sword. He had the odd idea that the man was looking at him, though it was difficult to tell through the helmet.

Jens tilted his head, frowning slightly. _That's my father's helmet._ He looked around the edge of the field until his eyes found a familiar figure. Merilinn had placed herself unobtrusively, not attempting to hide but clearly hoping not to be seen. It was Merilinn who had asked if his father had any spare helmets. "Why don't you check the armory?" he'd asked. "I don't want a palace helmet," was her cryptic reply. Jens had supposed that she and Ursula had got up some scheme that they didn't want the king to know about.

The princess herself was also in attendance, wearing mail but not full armor; she stood with Morgan some paces away. Ursula never missed a trial for knighthood, and Morgan found it useful to have her there. If any of the competitors were heard to speak disparagingly of either him ("look at him, consulting with a woman about knightly matters!") or the princess ("it's unnatural-doesn't she know her place?"), it was a simple way to weed out the unsuitable candidates.

There was something different about Ursula these days, as well. An added maturity, a disinclination towards the sorts of mean-spirited tricks she'd previously been known for on the training field. No serving boys had been press-ganged into holding her archery target lately, for instance. Jens's eyes trailed back over to Merilinn, who was nodding to the helmeted knight. The knight nodded back.

_Just what are you up to, Merilinn?_

…

"Oh, please," Ursula said, "_please_ let me fight them. I can think of nothing more wonderful on a sunny spring morning than to send these idiots slinking away with their tails between their legs, having to report to Daddy that a girl bested them on the field."

Morgan, who was looking over the would-be knights' proofs of nobility, merely grunted in response.

"The third man interests me, though" Ursula continued. "He's very eager, anyway."

Morgan glanced at him. "Poor armor," he said, looking away again.

"All right," Ursula said, turning fully to him. "What is it?"

"What is what?" Morgan said, not looking up.

"You," said Ursula. "What's the matter with you this morning?" _What's the matter with you lately,_ might have been a better question. She tried to think of the last time she had seen Morgan smile, a real smile and not put on because he and the knights were on some kind of display.

Morgan sighed. "I just want to get this over with. It seems that every moron with a son wants the prestige of having a knight in the family, whether the nitwit deserves it or not."

Ursula studied him. "Morgan, you look exhausted," she said. She pitched her voice low so no one else could hear. "We can do this tomorrow just as well, you know, after you get some sleep-"

"Ursula, if you want to be the one to spar with them, be my guest," Morgan snapped. "There's no need to imply I'm unable."

"I was implying no such thing," Ursula said, taken aback. "I'm just-I'm worried about you, that's all."

Morgan made a disgusted noise and dropped the scrolls on the table behind him. "Well?" he said, making an impatient gesture towards the field. "Are you or aren't you?"

Ursula gave him one last, searching look. Something was wrong, had been wrong for a long time. If only these things didn't come to a head when there was no time to pursue them!

"All right!" she called, walking onto the field and gesturing to the boy who kept posturing for the benefit of a couple of nearby maidservants. "Let's see what you can do."

It was almost embarrassing, really. Both boys were hesitant at first, unwilling to fight a woman. The first boy learned quickly that Ursula was not pulling her punches and made an effort to pull himself together, but the second started out behind and never recovered. Ursula got the distinct impression that he didn't want to be there in the first place. Sending them on their way-home to Daddy with their tails between their legs-was underwhelming, even discouraging. By the time the third man took his place to spar, Ursula found she was in almost as bad a mood as Morgan.

The man had kept his helmet on the entire time he was at the field. Strange, for so warm a day-some kind of disfigurement, perhaps? But there was no time to wonder further, for this man was clearly uninterested in making the same mistakes as his predecessors. He fought her boldly and skillfully; smaller than she by some inches-Ursula wondered how old he was-he nevertheless used their relative heights to his advantage, ducking under Ursula's reach to strike close at her body.

Ursula found herself sparring as rarely had before, except, perhaps, with Morgan-and this man's style was different from Morgan's, more fluid, even graceful. Feint, parry, thrust, block-and suddenly the man ducked low when she went high, and Ursula found herself being thrown over the man's back to land hard on her own back, blinking dazedly at the sky.

A sudden ringing of steel on steel and the impression of boots near her head had her rolling quickly out of the way; another knight helped her to her feet. Morgan had taken up the fight. She was still quite close and could see the expression in his eyes, behind his helmet-he was exhilarated in a way she hadn't seen in him in a long time.

She looked around. The fight had drawn more spectators, even-but what was Merilinn doing here, when Ursula had given her a laundry list of chores to complete? Couldn't resist a lot of loud, sweaty men in armor, she supposed-

Morgan disarmed the man, but the stranger kept fighting, feinting and even attacking with his shield. Ursula had never seen anything like some of the moves he was making, and finally Morgan called, "enough! I think we've all seen enough."

He retrieved the man's sword and gave it back to him. When he took off his helmet, Ursula saw the smile she'd been so hoping to see on Morgan's face, wide and genuine. "Very well done, sir," he said to the stranger. "Lancelot, isn't it? May I have the honor of addressing you face to face?"

Ursula stepped to Morgan's side, eager herself to meet this skilled fighter. The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, then removed his helmet.

Morgan made no sound, gave no gasp of surprise. Ursula's mouth fell open. A hush fell over the spectators. The woman behind the helmet met first Morgan's eyes, and then Ursula's.

The first person to move was Morgan, who turned on his heel and walked off the field, looking at no one. Another movement caught Ursula's eye, and she saw Merilinn make an abortive motion as if to walk onto the field herself.

_You little idiot_, Ursula thought, _what in all the hells have you done now?_

…

Ursula found the woman in Gaia's chambers.

She stopped before going in. Gaia was elsewhere; she'd heard from a servant that she was in the lower town helping with a difficult birth. The door was ajar and she heard Merilinn's voice.

"I'm really sorry, Lana," her servant said, miserably.

There was a response too low to hear, and then Merilinn laughed a little, still rueful "Yes," she said. "You certainly did that."

Lana. Well, her name could hardly have really been Lancelot. Ursula pushed the door open, and both women turned to her, startled.

"Merilinn," Ursula said, eyes on Lana, "Leave us."

Merlinn stood. Her eyes darted anxiously from Lana to Ursula, but then she dropped into a curtsy. "My lady," she said, and left.

Ursula studied the woman before her. She was a little startled to see her in a plain kirtle, expecting, she supposed, that a woman who disguised herself as a man and stood the knights' trials would be more comfortable in trousers. But Lana did not seem ill at ease, nor ashamed, when she looked at Ursula.

"Walk with me," Ursula said.

Ursula took her to a little-used wing of the castle, to a corridor that overlooked the orchards just outside the city walls. She had come here often as a child, to be alone-or as alone as a princess of Camelot could hope to be. She did not speak, and Lana did not seem eager to break the silence.

"What did you think of my technique?" she asked, at length.

There was a surprised silence before Lana said, "You are very accomplished. But you are too used to fighting a certain kind of person."

"I'm too used to fighting other knights, you mean," Ursula said.

Lana hummed her agreement. "Other knights in a controlled environment," she said.

"That is to say," Ursula said wryly, "I have little by way of practical experience." Before Lana could respond, she went on. "I wish I could tell you that will change one day. But my father would never allow it, and I can only defy his will so far. Do you understand?"

They stopped at one of the windows, looking out at the trees and fields beyond. "If I cannot be a knight here," Lana said softly, "then I cannot be one anywhere."

"I truly wish I could tell you different," Ursula said. "Camelot needs fighters like you, now more than ever. And I-" she broke off, afraid she did not have words for what she wished to say, that the knights were in a certain way her friends but in another way unmistakably not; that putting on armor was at once thrilling and desperately lonely; that _she _wanted Lana to stay, and not just for the sake of Camelot, either.

"If I were queen," she said, "you would stay with my blessing."

Lana looked at her, clear-eyed, steady. "But since you are not?"

"Since I am not," Ursula said, "you must be out of Camelot by nightfall, by the king's orders."

Lana's jaw tightened as she looked back out the window. "With your permission then, my lady, I shall return when you are queen."

Neither of them said what they both knew, which was that while Uther was not a young man, he was healthy and hale, and might rule another twenty years.

"I must ask you," Ursula said, changing the subject. "Disguising yourself as a man on the training field. Did Merilinn put you up to it?"

"No, that was all my idea," Lana said, too quickly.

"You may be an excellent fighter," Ursula said, "but you're a terrible liar."

Lana grinned, a sudden outflash of good humor. "So I've been told before."

Ursula wanted to pursue this _before_. Just who was this woman, and what had led her here? But just as she opened her mouth to speak, a great clashing of bells rolled over the city, and in the midst of the bells, a great cry-

"That is the creature," gasped Lana. "I fought it outside the city. Your highness, if it's here, the people are in real danger-I broke my sword on its hide."

"Morgan," gasped Ursula, "the knights."

They rushed through the corridors until they came to a window overlooking the courtyard, watching in horror as the beast charged the knights, batting lance and sword away as if they were toys. "I should be down there," Ursula said in dismay.

"We both should," Lana said.

…

"Perhaps the king is right," Jens said, as he helped Morgan once more into his armor. "What better force to kill this beast than the knights of Camelot?"

"You are not here to offer your opinion on the matter, Jens," Morgan snapped.

"Yes, my lord," Jens said.

Morgan sighed and rubbed one gloved hand over his eyes. When he removed it, he looked, if anything, even more weary. "I'm sorry," he said. "You meant it well."

"It has been a most trying day," Jens said.

Morgan barked a laugh, a little cynical, but real. "You always do have a way of putting things into perspective," he said. "A trying day, indeed. A woman competes in the knights' trials, a griffin attacks the city in broad daylight, and the king sends us out to die because he's too proud to-" Morgan shut his mouth against whatever he was going to say next, so hard there was an audible _click_.

_Too proud to admit he might need magic_. Jens knew. His lord kept his disagreements with the king bottled up so tight that sometimes Jens wondered how the man kept from exploding. But Jens was-at least in proximity, and in something that resembled friendship-closer to Morgan than anyone in the castle, and there were very few secrets between them.

"I've half a mind to find that woman and tell her to suit up," Morgan muttered. "We need all the help we can get just now."

As if on cue, there came a knock on the door and Ursula burst in at Morgan's "enter."

"I am coming with you," she announced.

"Ursula, I don't have time for this," Morgan said.

"You are quite right," Ursula said, "you do not. So you may as well not waste time arguing with me."

"I assume you do not have permission from the king," Morgan sighed.

"Of course I do not have permission from the king," Ursula replied impatiently. "Don't be absurd."

"Ursula," Morgan said, "this is dangerous. Probably more dangerous than anything the knights have ever done before. I cannot be responsible for your death."

"I am not asking you to be," Ursula replied. "I'm offering you my sword, and asking you to accept it."

"That will be all, Jens," Morgan said.

Jens bowed and left. He knew the outcome of this conversation-Ursula would wear down the already worn-down Morgan, Uther would be furious, and the whole castle would hold its breath until they returned. If they returned.

Troubled, Jens did not even see the figure step out of the shadows until he had almost collided with it. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Jens, isn't it?" a woman's voice asked.

Jens looked up, startled. In the moonlight from the nearby window, he recognized the woman from the training field. Her dark eyes were wide and intent. "Yes-yes, My lady," he said.

She shook her head. "I'm not a lady," she said. "Jens, I need your help."

Ten minutes earlier, Jens might have found a great deal to say to this woman, starting with _what could you possibly have been thinking?_ before moving on to _how dare you involve myself and Merilinn in your ridiculous scheme_ and ending with _you've made my lord Morgan even more miserable, thank you so much for that._ But looking into her dark, sincere eyes, Jens found his voice had failed him. He thought suddenly, unaccountably, of the way Morgan's eyes had lit up before he strode onto the field to challenge this unknown competitor, of his lord's wide smile and palpable excitement at finding a worthy opponent.

"What is it that you need?" he asked.

"The princess Ursula is fighting with the knights against the griffin," the woman said. "I will fight with her."

"But you are banished," Jens said, feeling rather stupid.

"Nevertheless," the woman said, "I will help defend my lady. I need armor, better armor than I possess. I know you provided me a helmet this afternoon, though unknowing."

Jens studied her and saw she meant what she said. If he did not help her, she would find another way. She would ride in her poor armor, or in no armor at all.

"Come with me," he said.

His father's smithy was silent and still. The forge was still hot, for his father never let the fire go out. But his father slept the sleep of the just in the other room, leaving Jens free to retrieve the pieces Lana needed. "I will return them, on my honor," she said. "And if I perish-"

"You won't," Jens said, with more certainty than he felt. "Do not say so."

"I am in your debt," Lana said.

Jens paused. Who was this woman, who gave her honor and her loyalty with no thought to herself or her safety? "Lana du Lac," he said, "I do not believe I have ever met your like."

Her face softened and she smiled at him. The moonlight caught her armor, her raven hair, her soft black eyes. Jens's breath caught. He knew, without a doubt in his mind, that he had never encountered a woman so beautiful, nor so full of honor.

"Come back to me," he said, the words out of his mouth before he could think, before he could call them back.

Her eyes widened. "I-"

There was a stirring in the room beyond. "My father," Jens whispered.

"Goodbye, Jens," Lana whispered. "Thank you."

And she was gone.

…

"Wait," Merilinn called, her whisper harsh across the empty street, "I'm coming with you."

Lana stared. "Merilinn, you are brave," she said, "but you are no fighter."

"I'm coming with you," she said, stubbornly. "Ursula is in danger." She led the horse she'd ridden the day before, the gentle mare with the soft mouth. Corwin had saddled it for her without comment. "Will you teach me to do that?" she'd asked. "When you stop shaking like a leaf every time you come near a horse," he'd said.

"You are an exceptionally loyal servant," Lana observed.

"I'm not just Ursula's servant," Merilinn said. "I'm her friend."

Lana hesitated only a moment. "Come, then," she said.

It was a rout, as Merilinn knew it would be; griffin versus mortal with no quarter given. Both Ursula and Morgan lay insentient on the road, Morgan with a freely bleeding wound to his side and Ursula with a lump on her forehead that promised a month of headaches. Merilinn stanched Morgan's wound as best she knew how and confirmed that Ursula's pulse was strong before turning back to Lana. The griffin screamed in the distance. It was now or never.

Merilinn watched Lana in her shining armor, realized that her friend never meant to come back from this fight. She spoke the words of the spell. She spoke them again. She watched Lana tilt at the griffin as if in a dream. She spoke the spell one last time-

…

"It's not right," Merilinn said helplessly.

"Perhaps not," Lana said. "Nevertheless, it is."

"You should at least be allowed to stay in Camelot," Merilinn said.

Lana wore her plain frock of dark blue, a servant's frock, a commoner's frock. "If I cannot be a knight, I do not wish to stay," she said. "But maybe one day." She turned to Merilinn. "You hide who you are in the hope of a better future. In a way, I do the same."

Merilinn stiffened. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Lana smiled, a little sadly. "Oh, please. My lance was _on fire_, Merilinn. I didn't do that. You did. _You_ defeated the griffin, not Lana du Lac, would-be lady knight."

"Well, I think you helped," Merilinn said.

Lana threw back her head and laughed. "I helped. You helped. Jens helped. All for the glory of Camelot."

"For the glory of Camelot," Merilinn said. "For you and me. And Ursula."

"Yes," Lana said. "Until we can all be what we truly are."

She rode away without looking back. But other looked on while she rode. Merilinn, from Ursula's chambers, watched her go. And Jens, from Morgan's.

"What are you so interested in over there?" Morgan asked, from where he lay recovering from his injury.

"Oh," Jens said, feeling slightly embarrassed, "nothing, my lord."

Morgan gave him a sly look. "It wouldn't happen to be our lady knight, would it? The savior of Camelot?"

Jens felt strange, detached. "Well-that is-"

"It takes great character to do what she did," Morgan said, "stupidity also, maybe. But great character, all the same."

Jens was reminded suddenly of his words to Merilinn the first time he met her. _Brave, but stupid_. "Yes, my lord," he said, watching her ride away from Camelot. From him. "Great character."

_My lady. My lady knight, Lana du Lac._


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

"Will there be anything else?" Merilinn asked.

Ursula half turned. She was seated at her work table, but had turned the chair towards the fire instead of towards the pile of unread reports and correspondence awaiting a royal reply. There she had sat, staring into the flames, for the entirety of the evening, not moving except to occasionally refill her goblet from the flagon of wine at her elbow.

"Yes," Ursula said. "Get me another flagon. Then you are dismissed."

Merilinn paused. "Ursula - "

Now Ursula faced her, expression impassive, eyes carefully blank. "Is there a problem?" she asked.

Merilinn wanted to take the princess by the shoulders and give her a good hard shake. _Yes, there bloody well is a problem!_

Ursula held her gaze until Merilinn dropped hers, bobbed a curtsy. "No, my lady."

She closed the door behind her, feeling helpless and angry. She had never seen Ursula like this, like she'd been the past three days running - efficient, emotionless, and dutiful during the day - all "yes, father," and "no, father," and "fetch me some more ink, Merilinn," and "No, I shan't have time to go down to the training fields today" - and silent, wine-soaked listlessness as soon as the sun went down and no one but Merilinn was watching. Angry Ursula she could handle, the Ursula that stirred her embroidery basket into disarray and then blamed Merilinn for it, who sloshed ink about and declared that she did not care if Lord Travers sent her father twenty-five geldings or twenty-five rotten apples, and why was it her job to handle the most boring messages in the kingdom, anyway, and Merilinn, if you drop that scrub-brush one more time I shall have you turned out of the castle. And Merilinn would say, by all the gods, at long last! When can I expect my deliverance, Your Worship? And Ursula would throw a shoe at her and miss on purpose, and everything would be all right.

That, she could handle. Silent Ursula, drunk Ursula, that she could not fix.

And it was all Lord Morgan's fault.

No one was supposed to know or talk about it, which meant that everyone did and everyone was. How Lord Morgan had approached the king and asked for Ursula's hand in marriage, and how the king had not only rejected him, but done so in something approaching horror.

_That idiot!_ Merilinn thought furiously, for the hundred thousandth time. Had Morgan not seen that there were still servants in the room when he'd pressed his suit to King Uther? Or had he taken the king's affirmative answer so for granted that he thought it did not matter? Either way, the damage was done. If Jens had been the only witness, or Merilinn herself, maybe things would have been kept under wraps. But the two attendants in the room at the time had made certain that the entire castle knew in the space of a day.

_That idiot! _Ursula had been totally blindsided. _He what? He WHAT?_ She had gone white to the lips, so pale that Merilinn had actually darted forward to support her. But Ursula's spine had straightened, and after that one initial outburst she had not referred to the matter again. Instead, that terrible efficiency by day and terrible listlessness by night. Whether it was more because she felt betrayed by Morgan or humiliated by the gossip, Merilinn did not know because Ursula refused to say.

Lost in thought on the way out of the kitchens, she ran into someone and almost spilled the new flagon of wine. "Oh, it's you," she said, ungraciously, as Jens held his own flagon out of the way.

Jens sighed. "You know, things don't have to be weird between us just because our masters are behaving like children."

"Your master is behaving like a child, maybe," Merilinn retorted.

Jens sighed again, longer, beleaguered. "Ye gods, he is," he said.

Merilinn huffed a laugh. She wasn't really angry with Jens, after all. "Is he the sort of drunk to have tantrums at six cups and tears at eight?"

"Is Ursula?" Jens countered.

"No," Merilin said, serious again. "Ursula's a sullen drunk who won't talk."

Jens winced. "To be perfectly honest, that sounds nice."

"Jens," Merilinn said, "what in the name of all the green earth could he possibly have been thinking?"

Jens hesitated. "He hasn't-" he shook his head. "He hasn't been...well," he said finally. "Before this, I mean. He's hardly sleeping. I think...I don't know how clear his thoughts are."

"The nightmares, you mean," Merilinn said, and Jens relaxed a fraction. Morgan's nightmares weren't common knowledge, but being the physician's sometime assistant meant that she was privy to things others were not. She knew, for example, that Gaia compounded Morgan an unusually potent sleeping draught, so potent that she did not like to make more than one dose at once. "But does he really love Ursula? In that way?"

"Yes," Jens said at once, and then, "at least...he thinks he does."

"He could have spoken to her before he embarrassed himself and everyone else," Merilinn muttered.

"Do you know what I think they both need?" Jens mused, as they turned into the hallway that housed the royal family, "they need to fall in love. With other people, I mean."

"I'm up for playing matchmaker if you are," Merilinn whispered, as she reached Ursula's door. Jens only gave her a rueful smile. _I meant it!_ she wanted to call after him.

...

"The princess seems very taken with young master Stephen," Gaia murmured, and something in her tone made Merilinn look at her sharply.

"Is that so bad?" she said. "After this business with Lord Morgan, shouldn't she have some...diversion?"

Gaia hummed, amused. "Diversion, indeed. Believe me, Merilinn, I am not so old as to misremember such diversions myself."

Merilinn tried to think of Gaia as a young woman - a young woman dallying with men - and failed.

"But Ursula is not being very discreet," Gaia continued, "and if she's not careful, I fear she'll be even more broken-hearted than before."

"And you don't trust Stephan and his father," Merilinn said.

"Not even a little bit," Gaia said crisply. "I don't believe their story for one minute. The inscriptions on their staffs are in Ogham, which is used only in the Green Island to the west."

"But they said they were from Tir-Mawr," Merilinn remembered. Her heart sank. It had all seemed so perfect. Merilinn had cajoled Ursula into taking a ride one especially fine spring morning and come across Stephan and his father unconscious in the road, having been attacked by bandits. They'd been granted sanctuary in Camelot while the king dealt with the bandit threat that plagued the forests from time to time, and Ursula had, well, _come alive_ was the best way Merilinn could describe it. No more sulking before the fire. No more wine. Well, less, anyway. Humming - actually humming - while Merilinn dressed her hair. Taking time to choose one particular gown over another. Ranting over the state of her neglected armor.

Merilinn should have known it was all too good to be true.

…

Jens was surprised to hear Morgan's voice as he came around the corner, hard, as if in anger. He drew back, unwilling to interrupt. Who was he talking to? Jens would have liked to have said that he was not the sort of servant to listen at doorways...but if people would insist on having confrontations in the middle of the corridor…

"I don't know what your game is," Morgan said in a furious whisper, "but it stops now, do you hear me? Leave this place. Leave the princess alone."

A snide laugh that Jens didn't recognize. "Or what?" a male voice replied. "You'll run me through? I'm under the king's protection, in case you've forgotten."

"You are a liar," Morgan snapped.

"And you are drunk," the contemptuous voice replied. "Or are you just angry that the princess chose me instead of you?"

Jens stepped out from the alcove where he'd hidden himself in time to see Morgan throw his glove down in front of Stephen, the young man who'd so taken Ursula's fancy these past few days. Stephen looked at it, and then at Morgan. "No," he said, his elfin features twisting unpleasantly, "I won't fight you."

"You dishonorable cur," Morgan growled.

"You wound me, sir," Stephen said. He bent from the waist in a mockery of a bow. "Until next time, my lord Morgan," he said, then turned on his heel and left. He did not look at Jens. Jens was not even sure he had been noticed.

Morgan watched him go, the ungloved hand at his side clenching and unclenching. He turned, wavering a little. _Drunk_, Jens thought, and then _distressed_. He darted forward and retrieved the abandoned glove. Morgan looked at him blearily. "Ah, Jens," he said. "Careful. It's not _you_ I want to fight."

The jest was a poor one, and the ghost of a smile that accompanied it only served to highlight how ill and tired Morgan looked. "Come, my lord, it's late," Jens said, ushering him into his bedchamber.

"No," Morgan said stubbornly, standing still just inside his door. "I don't want to sleep."

"I'll have Gaia send a sleeping draught," Jens said.

Morgan shook his head. "Doesn't work." He turned to Jens, who took the motion as an opportunity to move Morgan gently but bodily inside the chamber, closing the door behind them.

"I saw him, in my dream," Morgan said.

"Who, my lord?" Jens asked, pouring new wash water into the basin.

"That boy," Morgan said. "Stephen. I saw him with Ursula. He had her head under the water. He was killing her. I had this dream the day before they came to Camelot. The day before. And every night since."

Jens stared at Morgan. Just how drunk was he? How far could his words be trusted? In vino veritas, or in vino whatever-he-wished-to-be-true? "Are you sure, my lord?"

"He had her head under the water," Morgan repeated, "and she drowned. She sank to the bottom of the lake while I watched." Morgan swayed on his feet and Jens jumped forward, frowning when he could not detect the slight smell of sour wine that had clung to his master for longer than he cared to think. Could it be that Morgan was not drunk at all? And if not, then -

"Come, sit down," Jens said, guiding Morgan to a chair. "I'm going for Gaia."

Morgan startled Jens by taking the front of his shirt in both hands and pulling Jens down to face him. "Don't let me sleep," he begged. "Don't let me sleep."

...

"Jens, you're sure?" Merilinn asked, voice urgent.

"Sure of what?" Jens asked. "Sure that Stephen is going to try to kill Ursula? Of course not. Sure that Morgan's sure? Yes. Merilinn, I've never seen him like this. I'm really worried. If these nightmares don't abate..."

"Exhaustion," Gaia had diagnosed grimly. Exhaustion, not drunkenness. But it was more than exhaustion; it was desperation. Angry as Merilinn had been with Morgan for his role in Ursula's misery, she had been stricken to see Morgan this way.

"Gaia thinks Stephen and his father aren't who they say they are," Merilinn confided. "And if there's a chance they might try to hurt Ursula..."

"But we can hardly tell the king that Lord Morgan had a prophetic dream," Jens objected.

They were both silent, realizing what Jens had said. "Do you think that's what these nightmares are?" Merilinn asked. "Prophecy?"

"I certainly hope not," Jens said decidedly. "My life is complicated enough without someone I know being a secret sorcerer. I'm sure it's just coincidence, but..."

"But it's worrisome all the same," Merilinn concluded. She frowned, thinking of the conversation Jens had overheard between Morgan and Stephen. Stephen had painted himself in quite a different light then the handsome young man sweetly grateful for Ursula's help and attention.

"I think it's time we found out a little more about these mysterious visitors, don't you?" Merilinn said.

"What are you going to do?" Jens asked her retreating back. "Merilinn!" he hissed louder, "what are you - " he broke off with an aggrieved sigh as she turned a corner without looking back. He made a helpless gesture and headed back to Lord Morgan's chambers. Ordinarily, he would spend the night in the servant's quarters, or even back in his father's home in the lower town. But he didn't feel right about doing either tonight. Not with Morgan the way he was. Merilinn would just have to look after herself.

...

Ursula felt...good.

She felt as if several interlocking puzzle pieces, such as she used to play with as a small child, had suddenly come into place to form a complete picture, except the puzzle pieces were inside herself, and the picture was her, whole and entire. And it was all because of Stephen.

Stephen loved her...her, Ursula. Not as a princess, not as Uther's heir, but as _herself_. She couldn't believe how long she'd lived without him. And she'd be double-damned before she let anyone drive them apart!

She stepped over the unconscious body of her bothersome maidservant and followed her true love out of her chambers, down the steps, out of the castle, and through the gates of the city. She put up the hood of her cloak against the chill air, and the red material in her peripheral vision made her think of something-eyes? Someone's eyes? Why would the color red make her think of someone's eyes? For the briefest of moments, her thoughts returned to Merilinn and her final words-_they are Sidhe of the Green Island and if you go with them you'll die!-_before Stephen turned and looked at her, smiling beatifically. All other thoughts fell from her mind. Nothing else mattered. She would be with her Stephen...forever.

...

"I couldn't keep him in his chamber," Jens said, voice taut.

Morgan looked dreadful. "Gaia, it's happening," he said. "It's happening. Ursula is going to die. Today."

Gaia and Jens pressed him onto the workbench. "My lord, you must calm down!"

"I can't," Morgan said, attempting to stand again. "I won't! I have to tell the king. I don't care. I have to tell him."

"It's his dream," Jens said helplessly to Gaia. "He's sure Stephen is going to kill the princess."

Gaia, whom Merilinn had already told about the possibly-prophetic dream, feigned ignorance. "Tell me about this dream, my lord."

"It's happening just like I saw it," Morgan repeated. "The old man and the elf-boy. They're luring Ursula into the woods as we speak. Gaia, you have to believe me. I know I sound mad - I - I think I might _be_ going mad - but I'm not wrong about this. Please."

Gaia sat on the opposite bench, looked Morgan in the eye. "I believe you," she said, "I do. But you cannot tell the king about this. His only reaction will be against _you_, not against Aulfric and Stephen. Do you understand?"

"Then I must go after them myself," Morgan said. "I told you, Jens - I told you - "

"He wanted to follow them in the first place," Jens explained hurriedly to Gaia, "and I was barely able to convince him to come here, instead."

"My lord, you're in no fit state to go anywhere," Gaia said, putting on her authoritative physician's voice. "Do you trust me?"

"I - yes."

"Then I will take care of things. Ursula will be quite safe. Do you believe me?"

"What will you do?" Morgan demanded.

"I'm going to find someone to fetch Ursula back," Gaia said. She tipped her head towards Jens, who approached. "Try to make him rest," she said.

Jens's face was the picture of frustration. "I've _been_ trying," she said. "He refuses to take the sleeping draught."

"Do what you can," Gaia said, and was gone.

Jens turned back to Morgan, who was sitting on the bench with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Perhaps if you lay down here, in these chambers," Jens suggested. "A change of scenery."

Morgan dropped his hands, looked up at Jens. "You think I've gone mad too, don't you," he asked, voice dull.

"I think you are so exhausted you can't see straight," Jens said. "You've done the right thing, coming to Gaia. She and Merilinn will take care of everything."

"Merilinn," Morgan repeated. "She's a clever one. Loyal. You remember, she was the one who tried to warn everyone when that Valiant fellow used magic to cheat in the tournament. "

"So you see, the princess is in safe hands," Jens said.

Morgan looked at him again, and Jens was heartened to see a spark of some emotion in his eyes. "I'm glad you can be depended upon to be as patronizing as always."

"Anything to be of service, my lord," Jens said, putting on the stuffy tones of Bromley, the chief butler. Morgan's mouth twisted into a smile, small but genuine. Then it faded.

"Do you really think she'll be all right?" he asked.

Jens sat across from him, on the opposite bench, looked into his face. "Yes, my lord, I do," he said.

He wondered if he was lying.

...

She'd never killed anyone with magic before.

She'd never killed before.

Stephen and his father weren't just dead...they were _gone_. They were _ex-sidhe._

Ursula, in her sodden gown - the finest gown she owned, cream silk and gold brocade, lace a handspan deep on cuff and hem - sank like a stone, so heavy that when at last Merilinn caught up a handful of material she had to use magic to lift Ursula to the surface of the water. Magic once more to lift the water from her lungs. Magic a final time to push and pull the taller, water-soaked woman into the position Gaia had shown her before, on her side, knee braced against the ground.

Ursula coughed and choked and _breathed._

Merilinn collapsed on the ground beside her. The leaves of the trees above her seemed very green; the sky very blue. She filled her lungs with clear spring air, felt her heartbeat slow from its fierce hammering. She turned her head and found Aulfric's _sidhe_ staff lying not half an arms' length away from her.

She remembered the look of shock on Aulfric's face, the horror on Stephen's just before she blasted them apart. She grasped the staff, every instinct screaming at her to be rid of it, to throw it into this thrice-cursed lake where no one would ever lay eyes on it again.

But there was that little voice that said, _what else could you do with a staff like this_? The little voice that reminded her how her magic had felt when channeled through it, like lightning running through her. Could she use it? Could she _stand_ to use it?

A thought hit her: could she use it to get Ursula back to Camelot?

A choked, almost-hysterical laugh burst from her involuntarily as she pictured brandishing the staff, Ursula's feet hovering six inches above the ground, head scraping the low-hanging branches.

She looked from the staff to Ursula and back again.

Well, after all...desperate times...

…

"And so you see, my lord," Gaia said, "your dream did not come true after all. I can't account for how you came to dream Stephen's face before you met him, but it seems the only ill-will they bore towards Ursula was to entrap her in an unseemly marriage."

There was relief in every line of Morgan's body. "And Merilinn caught them in a handfasting circle? Really?"

"And coshed the princess over the head before she could do something she'd really regret," Gaia affirmed smoothly.

"She must have been extraordinarily stealthy," Morgan mused. "Or Ursula was extraordinarily distracted."

Gaia cleared her throat. "Ah, quite. Now, my lord, I've compounded a new sleeping draught for you, something different this time. If it does not help-"

"Honestly, Gaia, just knowing that these dreams I have are not - well - "

"Prophetic?" Gaia supplied gently.

"Are not prophetic," Morgan repeated, "sets my mind at ease immensely."

Gaia found she had to remind herself, as she watched Morgan leave her chambers, that inaction was sometimes the best - and safest - course of action. That allowing Morgan to believe a lie was, at its heart, a kindness. She thought of the courtyard outside her window, thought of Morgan upon a pyre in its center, shuddered, and turned away. Caution. Caution was the only way.

…

Ursula stood looking out at the courtyard while Merilinn prepared her bath. She was very still, but not in the way that had worried Merilinn, back when Ursula was staring dully into the fire night after night. This stillness spoke of deep thought, of working through some puzzle.

"What I don't understand," Ursula said at length, "is why my father turned down his proposal."

Merilinn's mind instantly went to the ludicrous scene in the hall, in which both Ursula and Stephen had argued for their immediate marriage, with reactions by turns amused, irritated, and then irate from the king. Then she realized that Ursula was talking about Morgan and his thwarted suit.

Merilinn took a moment to sort through Ursula's statement. "Do you mean," she said slowly, "that all other considerations aside, it would be a good match?"

"All other considerations aside," Ursula repeated, with a short laugh that was only a little bit bitter. She turned and looked at Merilinn. "When my father declared me heir, he spoke to me at length about my marriage. Ordinarily, the daughter of a king would be married to a neighboring prince, the better to strengthen existing alliances or to make new ones. Before I was the Crown Princess, my father entertained several such offers, thinking to arrange something of the kind." She turned back to the window. "But things are different now," she continued. "My father explained to me that barring some unforeseen circumstance, I would need to marry from within the kingdom."

"Because otherwise, a foreign prince might lay claim to Camelot for his own country by virtue of being your husband," Merilinn surmised.

"Exactly," Ursula said. She took a deep breath. "Morgan is the son of Gorlois, who was my father's chief retainer before he died. Morgan has a title, you know, with his own lands, though he rarely visits. He has no disadvantage to any other nobleman's son, and a great many advantages. Why, then, did my father react so?"

"But I don't understand," Merilinn said. "Are you saying you _do_ want to marry Lord Morgan after all?"

"No! No. I don't want to marry Morgan. I have never thought of him in that way, and the fact that he went to my father without so much as - " she broke off, shook her head. "I just...I can't shake this feeling that secrets are being kept from me. Motives are being kept from me. It stinks of intrigue in a way I do not care for." She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "And it doesn't help that I can't see Morgan without wanting to bash his brains in."

"If you returned to the training grounds, maybe you could," Merilinn suggested.

"There's a thought," Ursula said, moving behind the screen to disrobe. "Merilinn, hide all the helmets before tomorrow's training session."

Merilinn laughed, even though she was not entirely sure whether Ursula was joking. "May I ask you something?" she asked after a moment.

"Since when, my unbelievably impudent servant, do you _ever_ ask whether you can ask me something?"

_Since you started confiding such personal thoughts to me_, Merilinn thought, but did not say. "Do you...resent being told who you must or must not marry?"

There was a silence, and Merilinn wondered whether she had overstepped her bounds at last. But it seemed Ursula was only considering her response.

"No," she said, "not as such. It is my duty to marry and bear an heir, preferably a boy, of course, but that hardly seems necessary under the circumstances, does it? I've always known I would someday, and to be perfectly honest I'd rather marry from within the kingdom anyway. At least then I'll be certain of meeting my intended before my wedding day. And my father would never force me to marry someone terrible, or if it was truly against my will."

A soft splashing sound as Ursula got into the bath. "And what about you, Merilinn? Is there an intended back home in...what was it?"

"Ealdor," Merilinn said.

"Ealdor. A strapping young blacksmith's son, perhaps?"

Interesting that Ursula should have hit upon that particular description, Merilinn thought, thinking of Jens. "No," she said, "there isn't. But it's different for us common folk, you know. Everyone knows everyone in my village. Getting married is sort of a matter of waiting for the mouth-breather who delivers the bread from the mill to notice you've got nice-well, you know."

Ursula laughed, long and loud and genuine. "Ye gods, Merilinn," she said. "No hint of the romantic in you, is there? The miller's delivery boy, indeed. Was he handsome, at least?"

Merilinn grinned. "Not even a little bit, my lady."

It was worth the joke at her expense, she thought, just to hear Ursula laugh like that again. Of course, what Ursula didn't know about a certain journey back to Camelot in which the royal hair was twice nearly inextricably tangled in hawthorn spines wouldn't hurt her.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

Merilinn pulled the boy into Morgan's chambers expecting - hoping - to find Jens alone. Instead, she found Lord Morgan just turning to say something to Jens, a smile on both their faces, smiles which faded when they saw her.

"For God's sake, Merilinn," Morgan said, an affronted frown beginning on his face, "this is hardly - " he stopped abruptly when he saw the boy, indignation fading into shock. "Merilinn, what is this?"

He had no sooner spoken when the alarm bells began to peal. "I...I had nowhere else to take him," she said desperately, eyes darting from one man to the other. "The guards are after him and I...I couldn't do nothing."

Morgan sprang into action, decision clearly made. "Get behind here," he ordered, indicating a curtained alcove. Merilinn concealed herself and the boy quickly before Morgan opened the door to halt a passing guard. "Report," he snapped.

Merilinn heard bits and pieces of the guard's reply. "Runaway fugitive...king's orders...sorcery." The boy went slack against her, losing the battle to blood loss and fatigue.

"Very well," she heard Morgan say, "I shall be there presently."

Of course. The captain of Camelot's knights would need to be involved in any search for a wanted fugitive. And she'd taken the wanted fugitive right to his chambers, put them all in the most dangerous position possible. Ye gods, was there any idiocy she wasn't capable of?

The curtain was thrown back, revealing Morgan and Jens. "We'll make up a bed for him here," Morgan said, voice taut with some barely-concealed emotion.

Jens collected spare linens and pillows and helped Merilinn settle the boy onto the makeshift pallet. Morgan watched the action of the guards down in the courtyard, then suddenly spun on his heel with a frustrated sound that was almost a growl. Jens and Merilinn both turned to look at him, alarmed.

"Behold how King Uther protects the realm from the dangers which plague it," he said, sweeping his arm in a gesture that encompassed both the boy and the guards outside. "Even unto the likes of injured children! I am certain we all feel so very much safer." He paced like a caged thing while Jens and Merilinn exchanged startled glances; it was almost treason to say such things, and Morgan, captain of the knights, said it in front of two servants. But then, what were words when the three of them were in the very act of protecting a wanted criminal?

Morgan stopped, ran a hand over his face. When he dropped it, he was quite composed. For some reason, the abrupt change in demeanor troubled Merilinn more than his earlier words. "I must go," he said. "Jens, my mail."

Jens hurried to help Morgan into his chain mail and cloak. "See to it that the boy has whatever he needs," Morgan said.

"Yes, my lord," Jens said.

…

"Sire, we have searched the Citadel inside and out. My knights in the lower town have uncovered nothing. It is as if the boy has disappeared without a trace."

The king regarded Morgan narrowly. "You're telling me," he said, "that a wounded boy is able to evade the guards and escape the city? Nonsense. Someone is hiding him."

"Perhaps he really has disappeared without a trace," Ursula suggested. "For all we know, he is capable of such magic." She put her goblet down and leaned forward. "In any case, father, he's only a boy. And we have already made an example of the other Druid."

Morgan turned to her. "Really, Your Highness, I'm surprised at you," he said. It would be different if he meant his formality mockingly, as a joke, but he didn't. "He is a Druid himself, and therefore very dangerous. He and others like him would see the kingdom stripped to bedrock."

Ursula's eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline; a biting response was on the tip of her tongue, but her father nodded. "Quite right," he said. "Keep looking, and do not rest until he is found. Anyone caught harboring him will share the same fate as the boy, is that understood?"

Uther had glanced away to gesture to one of the servants; he did not see Morgan's hand tighten abruptly into a fist. But Ursula did. Her eyes went to Morgan's face, but there was no change in his expression. "Yes, Sire," he murmured, before leaving the dining hall.

Ursula felt troubled. Her father spoke of the capture and execution of this boy as casually as if he were discussing a trade agreement, or some upset among the knights. Surely a person's life-a child's life-was worth more than a wave of the royal hand before moving on to the next item on the agenda. Need the strictures on magic be so...absolute? And in the case of an innocent child, who may not even know any better…

She glanced at her father, who had returned his attention to the meal. She had attended the execution earlier that day, along with Morgan. _People of Camelot...the man before you is guilty of using enchantments and magic...under our law, the sentence for this crime is death._

Need that really be the sentence?

It was strange, this line of thought. Her father had been training her for the throne for some time, and even before that Geoffrey and her childhood tutors had made sure she had a thorough grounding in the laws of the land. She understood that it was her duty to uphold these laws, both now and as Queen. Never before had she questioned whether she might…

Might what?

Might change them. Change the laws. Her father's laws.

_Your laws, when you're queen_, she reminded herself.

The possibility sent a frisson of...excitement, apprehension...fear? down her spine.

"What are you thinking of, Ursula?"

Ursula kept from spilling her wine by mere luck. "I beg your pardon, father," she said. "I was merely woolgathering."

"Well, since you clearly need direction for your thoughts," her father said, "we should discuss the border dispute with Nemeth. Now, Gedref has been a point of contention between our kingdoms for many years, as you know, and - "

Ursula wrenched her attention back to her father's words. But there was still a part of her mind that would not forget, _when you're queen_…

…

"When you say that Morgan's hiding the Druid boy in his chambers," Gaia said carefully, "I take it that means you're helping him? When you _specifically_ promised me that you would not get involved."

"Gaia...he asked me for help. _Begged_ me. I couldn't do _nothing_."

"And if you're caught? If Morgan's caught? How can I protect you, Merilinn, if you won't protect yourself?"

"And who does he have to protect him?" Merilinn demanded. "Doesn't he deserve the same help as I have received from you?"

"Does he need help from me?" Gaia asked, sharply. "Is that why you've suddenly told me of this?"

Merilinn's silence was enough answer' Gaia sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. She felt...well, she felt old. This girl she'd sworn to Balinor and to herself to guard as her own daughter, around whom swirled power and goodness, this girl who would recklessly bargain away her safety, maybe even her very life, for a stranger because it was _the right thing to do_, because she couldn't do _nothing..._

It reminded Gaia of all the times she had done nothing, all the times she'd had no choice but to do nothing. Merilinn had not lived through the Purge as Gaia had, never lived with the knowledge that one misstep on her part, one moment of recklessness, could cost the lives of people she cared about.

Until now, perhaps.

"After I treat this boy," she said, "he leaves Camelot."

"Yes," Merilinn said. "Yes, of course."

"And you are going to apologize to Lord Morgan for the position you've put him in," she continued.

Merilinn nodded.

"And Jens, too."

"Jens, too," Merilinn repeated.

"Four people in the royal household," lamented Gaia. "Ye gods, it's a conspiracy the likes of which even Uther couldn't dream up."

…

He wore dark clothes, plain, a brown ankle-length cloak with a hood provided by Jens. Quietly, almost silently, they got the boy ready, pulling his Druid's cloak tight about him to hide his white shirt, rolling provisions - strips of dried meat, a water skin - into a blanket and tying it with a bit of twine. He'd assigned the guards' routes himself, internally mapping his own route to avoid theirs. There was no reason to believe they wouldn't succeed.

And then after - when the boy had returned to the woods, never to be seen again - after, it was only a matter of dragging the fruitless search out for a few more days, poking a few more hay carts, dredging a few more wells, until even the king had to admit defeat. He'd draw his mouth down and level that steel gaze upon him - for it would be Morgan's fault, of course - and deliver a cutting verdict on Morgan's competency. And that would be that, until the next time His Majesty decided to part a man's head from his shoulders, or light a fire under a woman's feet, or let a child dangle from a gibbet.

He crouched with the child in the shadows, waiting for a pair of stray voices to fade away. Merilinn and Jens had not wanted him to go; had tried to convince him that either of them would be the wiser choice to help the boy escape. But no. "I'm the one with the keys to the door to the armory," he reminded them, "and if I'm caught, I won't be executed. I can't say the same for either of you."

"He said," Jens had pointed out in a low voice, "the king said, whoever was caught helping him would be found guilty of treason."

Morgan had felt a frisson of fear down his spine before he ruthlessly suppressed it. "Let us say, then, that I have the least chance of all present of being executed," he'd said.

Out of Jen's earshot, Merilinn had apologized. "My lord, forgive me. I never meant to put you in such a position," she'd said.

"You only did what I would have done," Morgan had replied, and then hesitated. "You only did what I later would have wished I'd done." He'd let Merilinn realize the compliment he was paying to her courage, and then he and the boy were gone.

They darted across corridors and down stairways, choosing always the path Morgan knew to be less traveled. He was grateful, for once, that the boy seemed to be mute. He wished - he wished he could learn the boy's name, before - but there was no time for wishes and regrets; they'd reached the armory and climbed through the hidden door to the lower town -

\- Two cart-lengths away from a troop of guards making their way conscientiously down the street, poking into every nook and cranny. Morgan pulled the boy into the curve of the castle wall. There was absolutely no cover, and no way to get to cover without being seen, not even back the way they'd come. It was mere serendipity that they hadn't been seen exiting onto the street. The shadows hid them for now, but it was only a matter of time - where did those thrice-damned guards come from, anyway? He'd assigned each squad of men search areas far from here - which thrice-damned commander decided to take initiative and bring his men this way, instead?

He looked up. If it was he alone, he might be able to climb; but could the child - ?

The boy suddenly turned, facing him. "Goodbye, Morgan," he said, without moving his lips. Morgan's mind went blank with shock, and by the time he realized what the boy was going to do, it was too late.

"No!"

But the boy darted away from both his fierce whisper and his grasping hand. Morgan reached, desperately trying to drag the boy back into the shadows, away from the guards and their terrible light -

"There! The boy! After him!"

The guards did not even glance at Morgan as they pursued their quarry. Their prey. He wanted to jump out from the shadows and challenge them, fight them off, his own knights, anything to keep the boy from being dragged to the dungeons and killed -

But it was too late, and he knew it was too late; the boy was on the ground, bound and gagged. And he was a coward and a failure, skulking in the shadows of his own home.

…

"Sire, I would speak to you about the Druid boy."

It was the end of open court, and the king was just stepping down from the dias. Ursula stood too, stretching surreptitiously to rid her shoulders of the knots that had formed there over the past few hours. She didn't mind open court, listening to the troubles and disputes and requests of the citizens of Camelot; in fact, she rather liked it - although she did wish her father would invite her opinion sometimes instead of expecting her to absorb the proceedings silently. But ye gods, it was a lot of sitting.

Her father glanced at Morgan as he continued down the steps. "Ah, yes, captured at last," he said. "What about him?"

"I ask that you spare his life. Not pardoned. Just banished."

Both Uther and Ursula turned fully towards Morgan. Ursula could feel the surprise on her own face and saw both surprise and displeasure on the king's. "One of the reasons the Druids are so insidious," he said, "is that they do not respect boundaries. Their shiftless clans wander hither and yon, pledging loyalty to no lord, no king. They are loyal only to sorcery. Banishment would mean nothing to a Druid."

"So then," Morgan said, and Ursula wondered if her father could hear the quiver in his voice, coming from what she could swear was not nerves - not nerves, not from Morgan - but _rage_? "You intend to execute a child for sorcery, a crime no one has even seen him commit."

The king could perhaps not be blamed for being confused. Was it not two days ago that Morgan was himself saying of the Druids, _they would see your father's kingdom stripped to bedrock_?

"You forget yourself, Morgan," the king warned. "Camelot's laws must be upheld without exception. The alternative is anarchy and chaos."

"Anarchy and chaos embodied in a ten-year-old boy," Morgan said, voice and manner carefully, ruthlessly calm. "Tell me, Sire, if the Druid man had been holding an infant, would you have murdered it, too? As an alternative to anarchy and chaos."

"Morgan!" Ursula gasped, as the king's puzzled disapproval turned to outrage.

"How dare you speak to me in the manner?" Uther growled, brow lowered, eyes glittering in anger. "If you do not wish to join the boy in the dungeons, you will apologize at once!"

Morgan bowed, managing somehow to make the action disrespectful. "Sire, if you intend to go through with this execution, you will not find me here. Sir Leon shall take charge of the knights effective immediately. I shall ride for Tintagel before the day is out."

Ursula stepped forward, hand outstretched, as if she were not too far away to take Morgan by the hem of his crimson cloak and hold him before he turned his back on the king. But she was not close enough, and as Morgan began to turn away, she saw from the corner of her eye that her father had cast away his outrage and in the blink of an eye become not the affronted parent but the wronged monarch.

"My lord of Tintagel," he said, "turn and face your king."

No one, no matter how angry or how righteous, ignored Uther when he used this tone, and Morgan turned. Ursula's eyes jumped from him to her father, who had never used Morgan's title to address him before.

"If I find that you have ridden for your lands without my express permission, I shall have you pursued and brought back here like a wayward child. Your lands and title shall then be forfeit to me and your birthright stripped. Have I made myself clear, Lord Morgan?"

Morgan's face was bone-white; every muscle in his jaw stood out. Uther approached him inexorably, without haste. "I asked you a question, sir. Have I made myself clear?"

For a heartbeat, Ursula thought Morgan truly would not answer. Then, in a voice like the scrape of iron on stone, "Yes, Sire."

"You will leave my presence," Uther said, "and you will not return until you are willing to offer such apologies as I will believe. Get out."

A ringing, terrible silence, and then Morgan turned on his heel and left the hall, not as as chastened child but as a knight on a mission, great strides eating up the floor. The heavy oak door shut behind him and when the last echo had faded Ursula turned to her father, who had not moved from watching Morgan go. His expression was unreadable.

Ursula approached him quietly. This must be handled perfectly, or she would risk the king's anger transferring to her. "Father," she said, "Disrespect notwithstanding, Morgan is right that the child has not been observed to practice magic."

Her father swung around to face her. "How many times must I repeat myself? There can be no mercy in these matters, Ursula. I cannot claim to know what foolish ideas have gotten into Morgan's head, but I will not hear you echo them."

Ursula repressed a frown, noting that her father had not answered her objection. "I have no wish to displease you, father," she said. "But if there is a chance the child could be innocent of sorcery - "

"He is not!" Uther shouted. "He is not innocent, Ursula, no Druid is! Do you think it brings me pleasure to cause this boy's death?"

Ursula met his gaze, held it a long moment. "I do not know," she said at last.

…

"Lord Morgan. Did he come this way?"

"Yes, Your Highness, I think he was goin' up."

Up to the battlements. Of course. Ursula acknowledged the servant boy with a nod, then picked up her skirts and climbed. And climbed, and climbed. If she knew Morgan at all - though lately she wondered how much she really did - he'd be at the very top of the castle.

She hesitated when she saw him. She had not allowed herself to be alone with him - in any proximity to him - since he'd asked the king for her hand. The air between them remained uncleared, and she was still angry - not as angry as she was, but still angry.

His back was to her and he was staring over the parapet at the countryside beyond. He stood not like a chastened child but like a knight, stance wide, hands on his hips. He'd taken off his red cloak; it hung bundled over one arm. She saw his back rise as if to draw a deep breath, then a minute flinch and one hand pressed suddenly to his side as the other reached out to grasp the battlement.

She moved before she thought. "Morgan!"

He turned slightly, acknowledging her without actually looking at her.

"Are you injured?" She wouldn't have been surprised. What with one thing and another, Morgan had been a demon on the training field, working the knights hard and himself harder.

"I'm fine." He kept his eyes on the great green land below.

Ursula felt like tearing out her hair. She leaned against the battlement next to him. "Morgan, what are you doing?"

"I am gazing over the great domain of Camelot," Morgan said, and Ursula winced to hear the bitterness in his voice. "Is it not peaceful? Prosperous? A veritable utopia, truly."

"Stop," Ursula snapped. "Just stop, Morgan." She angled herself to try to see his face better. It was drawn, weary, shadowed in a way that had little to do with the bright sunlight. "The way you just spoke to my father. What good did you possibly imagine it would do to bring his ire upon you? What were you hoping to accomplish?"

"The king has shown himself unable to listen to reason in these matters," Morgan said coldly.

"And you supposed he'd be convinced by gross disrespect and insubordination? Morgan, what's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten into _me_? Ursula, look around. Look at your future kingdom. It looks beautiful from up here, but it's rotten to the core. While we stand here in the air and the sunshine, a frightened child is cowering in the dungeons, waiting for his death. And you're going to stand there and ask me what's gotten into _me_?"

Ursula was aghast to see Morgan's eyes go bright as he spoke. She hadn't seen Morgan cry since - when had she ever seen Morgan cry? When they were very small children together, perhaps.

"Can't you see your way clear to do _anything_?" he continued, and there was something like despair in his voice.

"What is it exactly that you wish me to do?" Ursula protested, stricken. "I can't go against my father's wishes in this, Morgan, and you yourself just said he won't listen to reason."

"You could free him from the dungeons," Morgan said.

When Ursula merely stared, unable to think of a response, he pressed, "I'll give you my keys. You can send the guards on some pretext. I'd do it myself, but if I was caught anywhere near the dungeons, I don't believe the king would stop at stripping me of my title."

Ursula caught her breath, realization dawning. "It was you," she breathed. "You were the one who hid the boy!"

Morgan looked at her; his expression gave her the answer she needed. "In your own chambers, too, wasn't it-who would think to look there? And the lies you fed my father-!"

Morgan turned, took Ursula by the shoulders. "You need to think very hard, Ursula-think about the kind of queen you want to be one day. Are you going to be the kind of ruler who hides behind the customs and the laws while innocents shed their blood in the courtyard?"

"It's treason," Ursula hissed.

"It's the right thing to do," Morgan said.

Ursula shook herself free of Morgan's grasp, turned to look back out over the battlements. "All right," she said, forcing the words out between her lips. "All right. I'll do it. But we need a plan. My father can never know, or even suspect, or things will be worse not just for us but for others like that boy."

"Your Highness?"

The words came from a cautious distance behind them. "Merilinn, does this look like a public conversation?" Ursula asked, with exaggerated patience.

"Beg pardon," Merilinn said, eyes shifting to Morgan and back again, "only the king has the whole castle looking for you. Something to do with the party from Elmet…?"

Which wasn't due to arrive until the following week. Her father wanted her mind off the Druid boy, and she wouldn't put it past him to try to keep her from speaking to Morgan til the child was dead.

"We'll talk later," Morgan said, not trying to keep his voice down. When Ursula tried to give him a quelling look, he said matter-of-factly, "I trust Merilinn."

And just like that, Ursula knew that whatever had happened in the past few days, whatever secrets had been kept, Merilinn had been right in the thick of it-as usual.

…

"The reason I ignore your counsel is because I don't like you and your advice is confusing!" Merilinn cried.

The Dragon threw his head back and laughed, long and loud. "Confusing, is it?" he rumbled. "Then let me be very clear. If the boy lives, you cannot fulfill your destiny."

"Oh," Merilinn said, "thank you. That's very helpful. So, if I don't let a little boy die, I won't be protecting Ursula."

"You seem to have drawn the conclusion very well for such confusing counsel," the dragon said.

Merilinn gaped at him, then shook herself. _Do no evil_, her father said. "Just to make sure I understand," she said, "that little boy is going to kill Ursula."

"That depends," the dragon said.

"Depends on what?"

"You."

Revulsion welled up inside her as she gazed up at the dragon, his eyes glowing amber, the torchlight reflecting off a thousand thousand golden scales. _Do no evil_. "No!" She cried, backing up, putting distance between herself and the dragon. "You talk about my destiny as if it's the answer to all questions, the summit of all things. Well, it isn't! It isn't worth innocent blood. It isn't worth my soul!"

Merilinn fled, unwilling to hear the dragon's response. But as she sprinted up the passage she could still hear him rumbling behind her: "Is Ursula's death something you can bear to have upon your soul?"

_Do no evil. Help those who need it_. But turn the words sideways and the words could easily be interpreted to mean _do not allow a future evil_, with Ursula the one in need of help.

In that possible future. In that maybe-time, that hazy land of not-yet-come-to-pass.

And in the present, an innocent child's blood was about to be spilt.

…

Morgan did not allow himself to pause when he got to the heavy oak doors leading to the dining hall. He nodded to the guards, who opened them, and stopped only when he reached the foot of the table.

Uther looked up from his dinner and regarded him narrowly, taking in Morgan's black tunic emblazoned with a white boar, the emblem of the house of Gorlois of Tintagel, without expression.

Morgan bowed. "Sire," he said, "my disrespect earlier today was inexcusable. Nevertheless, I humbly beg that you excuse me anyway. It is not my place to question the laws of Camelot, nor your judgments. It is my place merely to uphold them."

There was a silence while Uther studied him. Morgan did not let his eyes drop from the king's. Exhaustion pulled at him, made him feel stretched, dizzy, and he drew in a deep breath, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain that erupted behind his ribs. He used the pain to focus, to steady himself, until the king spoke.

"Very well," Uther said. "I accept your apology. I am sure I need not tell you that such an episode will never happen again."

Morgan bowed again. "Never, Sire," he said, "you have my word." The pain in his chest deepened, spread, stole his breath. He was almost relieved when the king gestured to the chair at his left and said "join me." Relieved because he could sit down at last, not because he would be sitting next to the king while Ursula risked everything to help a prisoner escape. Such a passive role was not in his nature. But this time he had no choice.

…

"We'll meet again, Emrys." The boy spoke the words in her head, turning to fix her with an unnerving, clear-eyed stare. _Emrys_. A name of prophecy. Her name.

_If the boy lives, you cannot fulfill your destiny_.

She watched Ursula ride away with the boy in front of her, riding alone into the forest with the boy who might kill her. _Do no evil. Help those who need it._

When did that advice become so confusing?

…

A guard burst into the room when the alarm bells began to ring, and Morgan and the king both rose. "The boy has escaped, Sire, my lord," the guard said, addressing both of them.

"Gather the knights. Death to whomever helped him escape," the king ordered, words clipped with rage. He turned and glared at Morgan. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, I will not spare you," he said.

"I swear to you, Sire" Morgan said, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to lean against the table, "I did not."

Uther made a noise deep in his throat that told Morgan nothing about whether he was believed or not, and turned in a whirl of red cape to stalk after the guard. Morgan sank back into his chair. The room spun with the suddenness of relief and he struggled to quell a burst of unexpected nausea. In a moment he would have to get up, follow the king, take charge of the guards and the knights and make a show-again-of searching for the boy. In a moment.

But for now, an instant's reprieve.

…

"You're quiet," Gaia remarked.

Merilinn looked up from picking at her breakfast. "Do you think destiny means always having to decide between two bad choices?" she asked.

"I think that's an awfully heavy topic for so early in the morning," Gaia said.

Merilinn did not smile. "The dragon is angry with me," she said.

"The Great Dragon is a creature of time and magic," Gaia said. "He does not see things the way we do. It is difficult to understand the importance of a single innocent child when one is looking at the shape of a thousand years."

"Is that the way I should be looking at things?" Merilinn asked.

"You are a young woman of twenty summers," Gaia said, "not a fifteen hundred-year-old dragon. I don't believe you would be able to look at the world that way, even if you wanted to."

"Only," Merilinn said, "it's that name. Emrys." She looked Gaia in the eye. "What it means."

Emrys. In Latin, Ambrosia. _Immortal_.

"Eat your breakfast, Merilinn," Gaia said gently.


	7. Chapter 7

**7\. **

"Enough," Ursula said, clear voice carrying over the field. "No more."

The people fell silent in the stands. "Ursula," the king said, low, a note of pleading in his voice.

"No, Father," Ursula said, holding up her hand. Her eyes never left the black knight, who stood immovable and impassive next to Sir Pellinor's body. "Let no more die for me. I accept your challenge, Knight. We meet at noon tomorrow."

The knight's voice came, low and sepulchral. "So be it."

The knight turned and left the pitch, but the spectators, the knights, even the king had eyes only for Ursula as she stood still and regal, hair like sunlight down her back, face like marble. In the terrible silence, Ursula turned her back on the crowd, sweeping out of the box in a rustle of silk skirts.

Merilinn wondered when she had ever been so proud - or so frightened.

…

"I'd say I wish you'd been there," Ursula said to the still form, propped up on pillows in the bed, "but that would be a lie, I'm afraid. You'd have been the first to pick up his gauntlet." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, Morgan, I'm so sorry about Sir Owain and Sir Pellinor. I tried to stop them, I did, but you know your knights. All chivalry all the time. So eager to lay down and die for their princess."

Morgan's face was gray, sharpening to blue at nose and lips. He was completely, utterly still. It was an improvement - was it an improvement? - over the violent fever-nightmares that had taken hold of him near the beginning of his illness and held him in their unremitting grasp.

"Isn't there anything to be done?" the king had asked, aghast, watching Morgan shake and thrash and cry out.

"I am sorry, Sire," Gaia had said, face grave, "but it is up to Morgan to fight, now."

This current stillness felt an awful lot like Morgan not fighting.

Reflexively, Ursula put out her hand to check for fever, to check for signs of life. Morgan still lived - and burned. "Come on, Morgan," she begged, "say something. Wake up and tell me what a little fool I am. Father has already said so, several times. He says I should withdraw, that because I'm not a knight I would incur no dishonor by doing so. It's clear he thinks the black knight is going to kill me. His faith in me is very touching, really."

She looked at her hands. They were quite steady. She felt they ought to be shaking. "The thing is," she began haltingly, giving voice to something she had not had the courage to speak out loud yet, "the thing is, I wonder if he might be right. This knight - there's something wrong with him. Sir Pellinor dealt him a mortal blow, I'm sure of it. Everyone saw. Yet he barely paused. And I am no better fighter than Sir Pellinor. I'm no worse, but...I'm frightened, Morgan, I really am. But I mustn't let anyone see. You'll keep my secret, won't you?"

Morgan moved against the pillows and Ursula's heart leapt, but his body merely jerked forward ineffectively, as if he wished to cough but lacked the strength.

"Come on, Morgan," Ursula begged. "Say something. Wake up."

…

"You know," Jens said, "my life was a lot more peaceful before I met you."

"I think I will take that as a compliment," Merilinn said, hurrying through the streets of the lower town in Jens's wake.

Jens did not clarify whether he meant it as a compliment or not. "You're lucky my father is out," he said, as they entered the blacksmith's home. "He'd kill me if he knew I was giving you this."

He unwrapped the sword; it gleamed in the low light. "Even if it's to save Ursula?"

"You seem very sure about that," Jens said. "Promise me that this won't end as badly as that time you borrowed a helmet."

"It's nothing like that," Merilinn said, with dignity.

"I'm glad to hear it," Jens said. "I have to get back to Morgan."

"Jens, let Ulfin sit with him awhile," Merilinn pleaded. "You've scarcely slept."

"I'm fine," Jens said. "If it was Ursula who was ill…"

He did not need to finish. Merilinn understood. She nodded, and Jens did not wait for her, but hurried back up to the castle. Merilinn came more slowly, bypassing the main doors in favor of a back door near the entrance to the dungeons.

She was not particularly looking forward to this meeting with the dragon; she had not been to see him since she had disobeyed him in the matter of the boy Mordred. It was galling, too, to ask a favor from someone to whose face you had admitted dislike.

But the dragon seemed neither surprised to see her nor more incorrigible than usual. He put up a token fuss over burnishing the sword, and Merilinn got the impression that despite his harruphing he was secretly happy to be asked. No doubt it got a little boring down there in the dark.

There was, of course, a stern and dire caveat, as there always was when the dragon was involved. "In the wrong hands, this sword could do great evil," he warned. "It must be wielded by Ursula and Ursula alone. Promise me you will ensure this."

"I promise," Merilinn said. She did not really understand what she was promising, but she had no desire to see an enchanted sword in the wrong hands, either. The dragon sent the sword back to Merilinn's hand. "Heed my words," he reminded her. "Ursula alone."

Gaia was not in their chambers when Merilinn returned. It was just as well, since she had decided not to tell Gaia about the sword. She never could predict how Gaia would react to enchantments in the castle, and there was enough for the physician to worry about just now with Morgan so ill. All things considered, the timing of the knight's arrival was terrible...so terrible that it made Merilinn wonder. A wraith, sent to Camelot to take revenge on the Pendragons, just when everyone was at their most emotionally burdened. Someone knew. Someone knew exactly how terrible it had been for the royal household this past week, ever since Morgan had been felled by a lung fever that saw him coughing one morning and fighting desperately for breath by the next.

"How could this have come on so quickly?" the king had asked, a note of helpless bewilderment in his voice that made Merilinn pity him in spite of herself.

Gaia had answered him civilly enough at the time, but in their chambers later displayed a rare moment of real anger. "The man has eyes everywhere in the kingdom but remains blind in his own home," she had fumed. "Any idiot with eyes could see that Morgan was running himself into the ground. I told that boy, I told him…" there were tears on Gaia's face, real tears, and Merilinn remembered Gaia had been taking care of Morgan since he was a small child, in a castle mostly devoid of maternal figures. "I tried to tell him to take better care of himself, but he's as stubborn as the king sometimes, and now who has to fix it? Now who's supposed to have all the answers? Heaven forbid anyone listen to their physician before it's too late!"

And Morgan had grown worse, and worse still; his fever soared and his breath faltered, and all the time those terrible dreams - "Isn't there anything _I_ can do?" Merilinn had asked.

Gaia had been sympathetic, but firm. "Lung fever is not magical in origin, and the symptoms cannot be reversed like those of the afanc's plague," she'd explained, "and healing magic is difficult and delicate. It must be done in tandem with the body's natural processes, or risk further damage. I have a few tricks - " the only allusion she'd ever made to using magic to help Morgan herself - "but my magic was never strong, and I cannot teach you anything stronger. Not because of the danger, but because I simply do not know it."

And Ursula had said, "He can't die now, Merilinn, he just can't. We haven't - we haven't _really _talked, to - to put everything behind us. He's like my brother, you know. When I was very small, I used to wish for a brother or a sister. When he came to live with us, I was only five. I thought he really was my brother and that my wish had come true. And he just...he just can't die."

And now destiny seemed poised to take them both.

Merilinn unwrapped the sword and held it up, studied it as it shone in the dying firelight. There were runes in it now, burnished into the metal by the dragon's blunt, uncomplicated magic. Merilinn held it close and sounded them out, dredging up Gaia's half-remembered lessons. _Take me up_. On the other side, _Cast me away_.

Gaia would brace Morgan against death with everything in her; with this sword Ursula could send Tristan du Bois back to his rest. Between the two of them, maybe they'd both live to have that long-overdue talk.

…

Gaia remembered the old king, Custennin, Uther's father. His retainer Vortigern had betrayed him, begun a war that killed Uther's brother, Aurelius. Aurelius was as different from his father and brother as night was from day; golden as his name in features and in temperament. People liked to say that Ursula favored her mother, Ygraine. But Ygraine, while very beautiful had been small and delicate as a bird. Gaia wondered what Uther thought as Ursula grew year by year into the mirror image of his long-dead younger brother.

Vortigern's treachery and his beloved son's death had brought old King Custennin low, and he was stricken with a melancholy that would not abate, even as Vortigern's army was routed and order restored. Gaia once brought the old king a draught and, standing poised to announce herself at the open chamber door, had observed Uther speaking with Custennin. Despite the intervening years she remembered that moment with striking clarity-the young prince's back to the door as he leaned over his father's chair, urgency in every line of his body; the old king's face as he listened to his son, blank, hollow-resigned.

When Uther entered her chambers, Gaia looked into his face and saw King Custennin resign himself to death. She blinked, shook herself, and there was Uther - Uther the Terrible, the people called him sometimes, hard as iron and cunning as a raven - as empty and bleak as Gaia had ever seen him.

"Nimueh was here," he said without preamble.

Gaia's eyebrows shot up. "Here? In the palace?"

"Come to gloat," Uther said. He sounded neither bitter nor angry, only weary.

So the wraith of Tristan du Bois was Nimueh's doing. It was like her. Certainly it suited her sense of the dramatic.

Gaia waited for Uther to explain himself. On any ordinary day, the arrival of His Majesty's most hated nemesis would have sent the king and the entire palace - the entirety of Camelot - into turmoil. This was, clearly, no ordinary day.

"You were right all along," Uther said, still in that same dispassionate voice. "You told me and told me that no good would come of using magic at Ursula's birth."

"You did not know it would cost Ygraine her life," Gaia said gently. "You did not know Tristan would challenge you and curse you. You did not ask for any of this."

"Didn't I?" the king didn't wait for a response. "I cannot let Ursula die, Gaia. She must not fight tomorrow."

"Stop the fight," Gaia said immediately. She had told him so once already; was he now prepared to listen?

"No," Uther said. "Tristan du Bois will stand at my palace gates until he is satisfied. Nothing will satisfy him but blood. I will fight in Ursula's place."

"Sire," Gaia said carefully, "you will - "

"Die, yes," Uther said. "At least I have the choice to give up my life for my child. I gave Ygraine no such choice, did I?"

"Uther, please." There were not many who could take the liberty of addressing the king by his name; Gaia used this liberty seldom. "There must be another way." She was not too proud to try another tack. "You would ask me to explain to Morgan what happened to you? He'd never forgive me, or you, or himself for not being there."

"Morgan." Real pain flashed across the king's features before they set again into stone. "No, Gaia, there is no other way. My death will satisfy the wraith," he said. "Perhaps it will satisfy even Nimueh. Ursula will live, and perhaps even be left in peace. Do I have the right to ask for anything more?" He fixed Gaia with a piercing look. "Gaia, you must promise me to do what you can to maintain that peace. You must promise never to tell Ursula about Nimueh, about her birth - any of it."

So many secrets. So many lies told to those she loves. "You have my word, Sire," she said. "And I suppose you'll need me to drug Ursula, as well?"

The king smiled then, small but genuine. "My old friend," he said, "you know me too well."

After all, what was another subterfuge in the name of her king?

…

News and rumors from Camelot had always been in demand in Ealdor, even moreso, probably, than news and rumors from their own king. Camelot was bigger, wealthier; it _mattered_ more than the poor, half-wild lands of Cenred's kingdom, and the doings in Camelot mattered in a practical way to a small village just outside it. Were Camelot's knights patrolling nearby, and if so, would they keep the border? Would an indiscreet child, careless with her magic, be dragged away to be burned in a faraway city?

So it was that the people of Ealdor were eager for rumors of King Uther, just as they were eager for rumors of Princess Ursula. Merilinn had heard, for instance, that in his prime there was no better swordsman in the Five Kingdoms than Uther Pendragon. It was all part and parcel with his mythos, Uther the Terrible, a distant, shadowy figure whose power and influence loomed large.

But she had never seen it for herself.

The king fought with brutality, meeting Tristan du Bois blow for blow with _Ursula's_ sword. Tristan was the stronger and the bigger; he pushed Uther back, and back again. But the great sword gleamed, the runes clear in the sunlight - _cast me away._

Merilinn waited with her heart in her throat; waited for something terrible to happen as the dragon said it would. The wraith redoubled its efforts and Uther was knocked to the ground, his shield wrenched away, the sword cast aside - but surely the death of his greatest enemy at the hands of a creature of magic was not the great evil the dragon meant?

And then the creature was dead, burned away as if it had never been.

The people let out such a mighty yell that the very air shook. King Uther held the sword up to the light and looked at it as if he had never seen one before.

In the bright sunlight, Merilinn felt cold.

…

From the corner of her eye, Ursula saw Gaia pack her supplies away, brisk and efficient, unwilling to stay for the inevitable confrontation between the princess and her father. Ursula let her leave. Her quarrell was not with Gaia, after all - she was only following the king's orders.

In the silence following the physician's departure, Ursula said nothing. Her father had not been seriously injured, but he looked tired, and Ursula ruthlessly pushed down any sympathy. Drugged! Locked in her bedroom like a wayward child!

She continued to say nothing, merely schooled her features into an expression of haughty affront and waited.

At length, her father raised an eyebrow, quirked a wry smile. "Don't give me that look. I taught you that look."

"That challenge was mine to answer," Ursula said. "Have you so little faith in me, father? You yourself have told me and told me how important appearances are to the people of this kingdom. How will it look to them if I am not let to keep my word on such matters?"

"Your word be damned," her father said bluntly, and Ursula stared. "That knight meant to kill you, Ursula, and I believe he would have. Do not look at me so, it is not an insult to your abilities, just as Owain and Pellinor's deaths were no insult to theirs. I could not let that happen. You are too precious to me."

His hand went out and cupped the side of her face; Ursula's mind went almost blank with shock. She could not remember the last time her father touched her in this way, with such affection. "Ursula, you are more important to me than this kingdom and everything in it, more important to me than my own life. I was proud to fight for you today; I would have been proud to die for you."

Ursula felt tears spring her eyes. Her hand went up, almost unbidden, trapping his hand with her own where it lay. "Father, I - " she tried to blink the traitorous moisture away, only to have a tear spill down her cheek. "I always thought - you've always been so disappointed, you wanted a son, and I - "

Her father caught the tear with his thumb and whisked it away. "I would not trade you for any son," he said. "No, Little Bear, not for a dozen sons."

…

It was a good thing he'd prepared this treatment so many times in the past week-could it really have been only a week?-for his mind was quite blank with fatigue and his fingers stumbled over the most routine of tasks. Jens shook the paper of herbs - mullein, lovage, elfdock, the bark of the wild cherry - into the steaming water. Ulfin, the little kitchen boy whose assistance had been as patient as a trained nurse, held the shallow bowl at the ready while Jens maneuvered Morgan so the man's face was directly above the aromatic steam.

Morgan did not - could not - help him. He had no more dreams; no more fits of coughing, no more anguished gasping for breath that would not come. For almost a full day he had been utterly motionless but for the rising and falling of his chest, growing more shallow, more uneven as the day went on. Gaia had shaken her head, looking somber, but had put her hand on Jens's shoulder and said, "we shall continue the treatments until there is no hope at all."

Until Morgan breathed his very last, she meant.

It had been a very exciting day, or so he'd heard. He knew all about the black knight, of course. The king had been in not an hour earlier, limping, wearing no royal paraphernalia and smelling like a fight. He'd dismissed Jens, who'd gone down to the kitchens and found it buzzing with the news - Ursula furious that she'd been sidelined; the king successful, and the knight himself some kind of awful undead _thing_, can you imagine - ? And on any other day, Jens might have been swept up in the excitement of it all, would probably have been right down at the pitch watching. But Morgan was dying, and what were royal duels and ghosts wearing armor compared to that?

Jens counted the minutes while Morgan hung limp over his arm. Then suddenly Morgan jerked, and then made a sound deep in his chest, a sound that turned into a cough, and then a gag -

"Ulfin, put the bowl down," Jens ordered, sharp. He repositioned Morgan so he was sitting as straight as possible. The bowl hit the floor with a clatter, sloshing water everywhere. "Press into his chest just here," Jens said, showing Ulfin the soft place between the ribs and above the belly. "Hard as you can, Ulfin!"

Ulfin asked no questions, but did exactly as he was bid. Jens drew back his hand and struck Morgan on the back, once, twice, three times. Morgan gagged again, and Jens reached around and opened Morgan's mouth. Ulfin could not help leaping out of the way when the contents dropped out and onto the counterpane; Jens did not blame him. It made him sick to look at it; made him think that such slime had been in his master's lungs, that most of it still was. But Morgan dragged in a deep, ragged breath, deeper than Jens had heard in days, and began to cough, a real cough that rid his lungs of poison.

"Get Gaia. Now!" Jens barked, and Ulfin scampered away.

Jens held Morgan upright until the coughing died away, then arranged the pillows to allow him to recline as high as possible. By the time Gaia hurried in, followed closely by Merilinn and Ulfin, Jens had - almost - allowed himself to hope for the first time in many days.

Gaia took in the mess on the counterpane and nodded once to Merilinn, who whisked it off the bed and bundled it into a pile. She leaned over Morgan, taking his temperature and listening carefully to his chest. "Well done," she murmured, straightening. "Well done, my dear boy." She turned to Jens. "And well done to you, too, Jens," she said warmly. "He could not be luckier to have you by his side."

"Will he - " Jens hardly dared say it, so sure had he been that Morgan was going to die.

Gaia tilted her head cautiously. "It is too early to say for sure," she said, "but his lungs are clearer already. That will give his body more strength to continue to cough up the sludge in his lungs, which will give him even more strength. I am very pleased. We will continue to administer the remedies and breathing treatments, and by 'we' I mean not you, Jens, you are clearly half-dead on your feet."

"I'm fine," Jens protested, but Gaia held up her hand. "The last thing we need," she said, "is for you to fall ill yourself. Now get yourself to an available bed and _sleep_. Physician's orders. Ulfin, go with him and make sure he really does it. I'll stay with Morgan awhile. Merilinn - "

"Go tell Ursula?" said Merilinn hopefully.

"Be off with you, then," said Gaia, smiling. "And send someone to clear up in here."

Once out in the hallway, Merilinn threw her arms around Jens and gave him a quick, spirited hug. "Oh, Jens, I'm so happy!" she said. "He'll be all right now, I'm sure of it."

Jens felt a little strange, as if he was a few seconds out of step with the world around him. "Yes," he said, because some kind of response seemed to be expected of him.

"Gods, you're more asleep than awake," Merilinn said, giving him a little shove. "Ulfin, get him out of here. I know you're dying to spread the news in the kitchens."

"Yes, Miss! That is to say, the servants' quarters are nice and quiet this time of day…" and Jens let Ulfin lead him off to an empty bed, where he lay down in his boots and sank into blissful oblivion.

…

The sword flew, end over gleaming end, until it sliced cleanly into the water. There was hardly a splash to mark its fall to the bottom of the lake, the same lake where Merilinn had once followed Ursula and the treacherous Stephen.

_Take me up. Cast me away._ In the end, Ursula had done neither. Glad as she was that Ursula was kept safely away from the wraith, Merilinn felt an odd sort of regret that she had not seen Ursula wield the sword forged for her; that Ursula would never even see the sword forged for her.

The sun glinted on the still water and Merilinn lost herself to idle speculation for some time. The great Tor in the center of the lake was said to be the dwelling of the Sidhe. But if she were to row herself there now, she would see nothing but grass and stone. What, she wondered, was the nature of the veil that kept the realm of the Fair Folk from that of men? She knew countless stories of people who had stumbled out of time and reason and into madness, kept in the Otherworld for seconds or days or centuries. No one cared much if these stories be true, only if they gave a good chill down the spine. But all the same, there were those areas of the forest where one did not go, the standing stones one did not pass between, the trees one did not disturb. No one wanted to end up a story told round the bonfire on midsummer's eve.

But there were the other sorts of stories, too, the ones that spoke of another land beyond the Veil, the one kept for the blessed dead. And all these lands, Fae and Human and Spirit, so close, and so mutually elusive. But in this place, at this wonderful and terrible lake, she felt them press together so forcibly that Merilinn wondered in which realm the sword had landed.

…

He had a strange impression of being under the water, of sunlight glittering above him. There was a person, too; a woman, he thought, in silhouette with the light behind her. This was not one of his usual dreams, full of darkness and blood. He tried to lift his hand, to reach above the still water towards the light, but it was oddly heavy and would not listen to his commands. His fingers twitched and he felt cloth underneath them, a blanket. Not underwater, then. But where?

A hand slid into his. "Morgan? Can you hear me?"

He focused hard and forced his eyes to open. It was very strange, since he could have sworn they were open already.

"'Sula," he whispered at the figure there. His voice felt old, rusty.

He was in bed; Ursula was sitting by his side. Her golden hair was loose around her shoulders and she was looking at him very strangely. Almost as if she didn't recognize him. Or as if she wasn't expecting to see him.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

Morgan took a moment to think about it. He felt oddly separated from his body, and his chest felt strange. Heavy. It was somehow difficult to gather enough breath to answer. "Don't know," he said, on the exhale.

"But you're not in pain?" she pressed.

That gave him pause. "Happened?" he asked. "Injured?"

"You don't remember?" Ursula asked. "You've been ill, Morgan. Very ill. Lung fever. Gaia's given you about a dozen different potions to help you breathe and with the pain and I don't know what else. I should call her - " Ursula made to get up, but Morgan pressed her hand and she subsided.

He remembered, then - remembered the training pitch wavering before his eyes, remembered someone - Sir Leon? supporting him where he stood. _He's burning up - someone get Gaia - armor - Jens, take his other side - _"How long?" he asked.

"Nine days," Ursula said.

His eyes drifted up to the canopy above his bed. Nine days...it seemed incredible, but somehow he didn't have trouble believing it. He took several breaths, none of them quite adequate. Now that he knew it was there, he could feel the edges of pain now, deep in his chest, lurking just under Gaia's draughts.

He frowned, a fragment of a memory striking him. (Was it a memory? Or was it just another scrap of a dream?) "Were you...in a duel?"

Ursula's face lit up. "You remember me saying so? You were very bad then. We all thought…" she trailed off, then shook her head as if to banish the memory. "I was challenged, and I accepted. But Father drugged me and fought in my place."

Morgan felt a small smile lift his face. "Certainly...sounds like the king."

"He turned out to be a wraith. Burned like parchment when Father stabbed him...or so I'm told. I didn't actually see."

Morgan rolled his head to look at her. "'F course he was."

"Just another day in Camelot," Ursula said ruefully. She hesitated as if she wanted to say something else, but changed her mind. "I really should get Gaia," she said. "I promised I would if you woke."

"'st a minute," Morgan said. Fatigue dragged at him, threatened to pull him under. He didn't want to go, for dreams lived there. But he didn't think he could resist for long. "Ursula...I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" she asked.

"You know," he said. "You know for what."

Ursula pressed his hand. She looked sober.

"Thought...dunno what I thought. Dunno. Sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Ursula said gently. "Sorry I cannot return the feelings you have for me. You're like my brother, Morgan, and I love you. But I can only give you sisterly love."

"Should have...asked you first."

"Well, yes," Ursula said. "You should have. Next time you want to marry a girl, do bear that in mind, won't you?"

Morgan tried to laugh but his body coughed instead, and there, _there_ was the pain. It tore through his chest like a mad thing, and now he recalled something else about that day on the training pitch-a bright, rending agony that clawed at him and stole his breath. He wondered if he'd fainted like a girl and hoped he never remembered.

Ursula reseated herself as the coughing fit subsided; he hadn't noticed her get up. "Gaia will be here in a few moments." She looked at him searchingly, worryingly. Morgan didn't like it.

"Fine," he rasped.

"Don't you say you're fine," Ursula said with asperity. "You didn't see you. We all thought you were going to die. And your nightmares - " she caught herself, looked again at Morgan. He could see she hadn't meant to bring that up.

Morgan felt a slow burn of shame. So everyone knew, now, about the nightmares. He must have...must have what? Screamed and cried, he supposed. "Saw things," he said. "Terrible things. Saw myself - " _Saw himself surrounded by an army of the dead at his command, striking down his own knights as they defended Camelot against him; saw himself with cupped handfuls of someone else's blood, chanting terrible words in an unfamiliar language; saw Ursula writhing at his feet while he laughed -_

"It's all right," Ursula soothed. He heard the door open. Gaia. "They were just dreams. They weren't real."

They weren't real, he told himself. They weren't real.


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

"You are going, aren't you?"

Ursula half-turned, unsurprised, somehow, to see Morgan there. "Should you be up?"

"Merilinn asked me the same question when I passed her a moment ago," Morgan said.

"And I notice you still haven't answered, so allow me to rephrase. Does Gaia know you're up?"

"She said short walks," Morgan protested.

"Probably not up stairs," Ursula said.

Morgan rolled his eyes. He was much improved, but thin and pale yet, and prone to dizziness and shortness of breath, both of which he tried to hide. "Your impatience will be the death of you," Gaia had admonished him more than once.

"You haven't answered my question either," he said. "Ealdor."

Far below, Ursula watched a black-haired figure she recognized as Balinor, Merilinn's father. He was as tall and broad as Merilinn was short and slight, and Ursula wondered what Merilinn's mother was like. Too, she wondered about Balinor. He sat in his saddle with more ease than she might have expected, given Merilinn's description of horsemanship in her home village. _Not a native villager, then_, she surmised. Her father may not have noticed it, but Ursula could see that it had hurt Balinor's pride to beg for Uther's help, to have admitted to foreigners that he and the other men of his village were insufficient to protect their own home.

Ursula had argued when Merilinn had announced her intention to go back with him. "Noble," she'd said, "but what do you think you'll be able to _do_? Won't your father be happier knowing you're far away, and safe?"

The expression that had flitted over Merilinn's face told Ursula that she'd struck truth. But she'd only said, stubbornly, "he's my father, and I should be with him."

Ursula could not argue, for she knew what she would do had their positions been reversed.

Balinor galloped out of the courtyard, Merilinn before him on the horse Ursula had lent them.

"Yes, of course I'm going," she said.

…

"What on the green earth are you _doing _here?"

She tried not to show how her heart had lifted when she'd seen Ursula, mailed and cloaked, approaching their camp through the gloom. She shouldn't have been so happy, since her plan for Ealdor's protection began and ended with magic - a plan now complicated by Ursula's sudden arrival. But she was. And judging by the half-smirk on Ursula's face, she hadn't done a very good job of hiding it.

"Morgan talked me into it," Ursula said airily, walking with Merilinn to the campfire.

"And you came alone?" Merilinn asked anxiously. "Unescorted?"

Ursula gave her a wry look. "Merilinn, you do know I can actually use this?" She drew out her blade an inch.

"The king has no idea you're here, does he," Merilinn said.

"No, of course not. He thinks I've ridden to Ainsley Port with Lady Kirin and her retinue. The woman travels with such an enormous train that no one will work out I'm gone for ages."

Merilinn did not know what to say. She did not know how to express how much it meant to her that Ursula, whom Merilinn was destined to follow in to battle, would willingly follow Merilinn into hers. She was saved from having to say anything by her father's arrival with another armload of wood.

"Your Highness!" His eyes were wide in the leaping light. "Your Highness, forgive me, but...but you should not be here."

"On the contrary, sir," Ursula said, her voice firm, but respectful. "I'm exactly where I should be. Perhaps my father feels he cannot spare his knights for an expedition to another king's lands, but you came to Camelot to ask for help and it is my opinion that you should have it, however small it may be."

Balinor looked from Ursula to Merilinn and back again; he shook his head in surprise bordering on astonishment rather than disagreement. He dropped his armload of wood next to the fire and bowed quite correctly to Ursula. "Then, Your Highness, I can only thank you most sincerely."

Ursula inclined her head to him and made herself comfortable by the fire while Balinor tilted his head to indicate he wished to speak to Merilinn privately.

"Kanen won't care she's a woman," he said without preamble.

"Nor that I am," Merilinn replied.

"That's different," her father said. "He won't even know you're fighting. If the princess makes herself a target, then a target is what she'll be."

"If he underestimates her because she's a woman, all the better," Merilinn said. "Father, you haven't seen her fight. I have. And she can help the others, too - help them organize, I mean. If I know her, she's already working on a plan to help you get rid of them once and for all."

Her father looked at Ursula speculatively as she stared into the fire, an intent expression on her face. "She'd do all that?"

"She'd do it for any village," Merilinn said. "She's like that. She hates injustice and she'll work to right it, without worrying about whether she ought, or whether it's allowed."

Merilinn noticed that her father had transferred his speculative look from Ursula to Merilinn. "You admire her a great deal."

"Yes, but don't tell her," Merilinn said. "I'd never hear the end of it."

Her father smiled then and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're wrong about one thing," he said. "She may hate injustice as much as you say, but she's not here for Ealdor, not really. She's here for _you_. Give your friendship some credit."

"She still doesn't know about - " Merilinn began.

"Then we shall be careful, shan't we?" her father said. "Just as we always have."

…

"Time was," Will said, contempt and anger in his voice, "time was, you didn't let anyone tell you what to do. And here you are at the beck and call of some royal prig."

"It's not like that," Merilinn protested. "She's my friend. I trust her."

Will snorted. "Is that right? Tell her everything, do you? Like you did me?"

"Will - " Merilinn began, unsure of what she intended to say.

"Tell me the truth," he said abruptly, "did you leave Ealdor because of me?"

"Stop flattering yourself a wronged lover," Merilinn said coldly. "I left for my own reasons. They had nothing to do with you."

"You ran, you mean," Will said. "How long will you stay with your precious princess, whom you trust so much, before you run again? Will you ever find somewhere where you don't have to hide?"

"My place is in Camelot, whether I have to hide or not," Merilinn said. "What business is it of yours, anyhow?"

"It's my business when you come waltzing back into _my_ village with _your_ princess in tow. You could raise your right hand and put and end to all this in the blink of an eye. But you won't, because you're scared. You've always been scared. You've always been scared of everything."

"Once again, this is not about your broken heart," Merilinn snapped.

"Fine," Will said. "Fine. Put Her Worship in charge of three dozen farmers with hoes and rakes. Watch her send them out to die. Maybe you'll see then that she doesn't care about the likes of us."

"This is not about your father, either," Merilinn said, more gently this time. "Will, for God's sake, she only wants to help."

"Don't want her help," Will said brusquely. "Don't really need her help, either. Only you're too busy hiding."

"Will, don't - " but Will was already walking away from her, anger and frustration in every line of him. The people of the village, men and women both, were doing their best to train with Ursula in the green near the blacksmith's forge. But Will veered away from them, heading down to the river and the mill where he worked and lived, in the small, drafty room above the animal pens if all was the same as when she left.

Slowly, Merilinn made her way down to the clearing, trying to put the troubling conversation to one side. It did not look like Ursula was having much luck with the villagers. By the time Merilinn reached them, she had called a rest.

"How are they?" Merilinn asked, even though Ursula's tense expression as she dipped up water from the common bucket told her everything she needed to know.

"To be perfectly honest, I wish Morgan was here," Ursula answered. "I've never handled training myself, and these are not fighters. But your father has been very helpful." She looked sidelong at Merilinn. "He knows the rudiments of swordsmanship. Knows how to ride, too."

"His parents were in service to King Budec, Cenred's father," Merilinn explained. "But my grandparents didn't trust Cenred. When he became king, they left the court for the farthest edges of the kingdom." She gestured around her at Ealdor, the very definition of a border town. "My father was raised at court."

Ursula nodded. Merilinn waited nervously for a question about her mother, but none came. Instead, she was quite dismayed to hear Ursula say, "It seems you lied to me, Merilinn."

"I - what do you mean - ?"

But Ursula wore the wry half-smile that meant she was about to make fun of her. "The miller's boy," she said, gesturing in the direction that Will had disappeared. "You told me he wasn't good-looking."

Merilinn found herself swamped in relief followed in short order by embarrassment. "Oh," she said self-consciously, "I suppose he is, in a way. We've been friends for as long as my memory goes, so to me he's just...Will."

"I expect," Ursula said shrewdly, "that annoys him."

"He only thinks he's in love with me," Merilinn said. "We were the two of us both misfits in the village. He got used to having me around, thought it would always be that way."

"Well," Ursula said with a sigh, "if you'll recall, I know exactly what that is like." She gave Merilinn a small smile, and for a moment, standing in the rough-cut grass of the Ealdor common green, surrounded by villagers and the soft sound of the millpond beyond, it was almost as if they were equals.

…

Once upon a time - not so very long ago, really - could it really have been only a few short months? A year, at the very most? - Ursula had stood upon a crumbling ledge in a dark cave in a faraway forest and accused herself of wanting glory more than wanting to help someone in need.

Now she stood in front of dozens of people and a dead man and listened to a young hothead accuse her of the same.

Merilinn put herself between Will and Ursula, hands on her hips, forcing Will to face her. Ursula couldn't see her face, but she knew exactly the stubborn, mulish expression her servant would be wearing. "This is not her fault!" she insisted, and Ursula felt strange, as if split in two - one half of her grateful for Merilinn's loyalty and defense; the other wanting to order her to cease and let everyone hear the truth.

Will fell back. He cast a desperate, angry look at Merilinn, then scowled at Ursula over Merilinn's shoulder. "You're sending them to their deaths," he snapped. He raised his voice to address the gathered villagers. "Do you hear me? You'll be slaughtered!" His eyes went back to Merilinn. "And I for one won't have any part of it."

Merilinn followed when Will turned on his heel and stormed away, leaving Ursula in the center of a crowd of staring villagers, a dead man and his grieving wife at her feet. The villagers began to turn away. Balinor murmured a word to the woman and picked up the man - Matthew, wasn't it? - carrying him away, presumably to the couple's hut.

Ursula gathered up her courage and knelt beside the woman. "He died in service to his home and to you," she said. "It is a knight's death and I shall see to it that you receive a knight's pension. I am truly very sorry, Madam."

The woman looked at her, blank grief on her face. Her hand came up and gripped Ursula's sleeve; Ursula did not think the woman even realized she was doing it. "It's true what they say, milady" she murmured, "you're a real queen, you are." Two village women helped her stand and led her away.

Ursula sat down next to the rough flagged wall of Balinor's house and took out her sword and a whetstone. Matthew's death was a clear message from Kanen and his bandits - they were coming. And there would be no quarter given. No quarter given to a cluster of villagers defending themselves with scythes and hammers.

"Your Highness."

Balinor seated himself next to her without permission. _Like father like daughter,_ Ursula thought to herself, but said nothing.

"I know what you are thinking," he said. "It's plain on your face. You are wondering if that troublemaking friend of my daughter's was right all along."

Ursula straightened, tried to school her features. A princess's thoughts should not be so easily guessed.

"But while you were looking at Will," Balinor continued, "I was looking at the others. They weren't listening to him, not really. To be perfectly honest, they're used to not listening to Will. They were watching you to see how you would respond to Matthew's death. To see if you would respect his death. And Your Highness, they liked what they saw. Look around."

Ursula did, for the first time. Instead of excusing themselves to their ordinary tasks, the villagers were clustered on the green, sharpening hoes and scythes and personal knives, fletching crude arrows. Children ran about gathering flat stones; an older boy sat making slingshots with practiced ease.

It heartened her, but did not bolster her confidence. "Slingshots and farm tools," she said. "They are brave, but they are no fighters. How can I in good conscience lead them in such a fight?"

"They believe in you," Balinor said, "it is your turn to believe in them. The rest…" he hesitated. "The rest will take care of itself."

Ursula frowned, studying him. "Why do I feel you know something I do not?"

"I know these people," Balinor said instantly. "I trust these people."

Ursula turned her head, watched the villagers prepare themselves in their homely way for battle. "Very well," she said. "I shall trust them too."

…

"It's too big for you," Ursula teased.

"I took the smallest one they had," Merilinn grumbled. The mail she'd borrowed from the armory hung almost to her knees.

"As long as it doesn't impede your movement," Ursula said, looking at her critically. "Swing your arms. Do you feel hampered?"

"No more than usual," Merilinn said, with no intent at irony.

"You understand what to do?" Ursula asked, for the seventh or eighth time.

"The fire was my idea," Merilinn reminded her, also for the seventh or eighth time. She moved forward to help Ursula with her armor, only to fall back in surprise when Ursula held up her hand.

"Not this time," she said gently. "This is your home. You're not my servant here."

Merilinn did not know what to say and so said nothing. She hid her emotion by attempting to fasten a leather vambrace around her own wrist, failing until Ursula reached out to help her.

For a brief, heartrending moment, Merilinn wished with her whole self that Will might be here to see this, to see a noble - a royal - stoop to helping a servant with a task so menial. She tried to suppress the thought as quickly as it came, for if Ursula saw Merilinn performing magic, that would be the end of things between them, and if things went very badly indeed it might be the end of everything; and she did not want to spend these last few moments thinking about Will.

But Ursula was canny, and she must have read something of Merilinn's feelings on her face. "Your friend?" she said only.

Merilinn shook her head once, decidedly. "Gone," she said.

_You could go out there and poof! No more Kanen. No one would have to fight, or die. But you'd rather skulk around in the background, risk everyone's life - including your own and the princess's._

_At least I'm staying, Will. At least I'm doing something._

_Yeah, well. Good luck with that._

"And here I was hoping he'd be impressed by my speech," Ursula said.

"If he wasn't," Merilinn said, "he was the only one who wasn't."

Ursula had not spoken loudly; she had not needed to. Everyone was silent in the firelight, watching her. There was scarcely an errant movement, even from the children. _If you choose to fight, it will be for the noblest of causes - the protection of your homes. Your families. The friends who stand beside you. You will show these men that they cannot take from you by force what you made with your own strength. I am proud to fight with people of such courage, as proud as I would be among my own knights! _

"Ursula," Merilinn blurted, "whatever happens, promise you won't think less of me."

A hopeless request. If Ursula Pendragon witnessed Merilinn doing magic, no aforegiven promise would protect her.

"It's all right to be frightened," Ursula said. "I am. I've never been in a real battle, you know." She gave Merilinn a half-grin, then held out her arm. "Come," she said, "it's what the knights do."

Merilinn stepped forward and grasped Ursula's forearm, reflecting that this might be the first, last, and only sign of respect her princess ever gave her.

…

"What are you _doing_ here?"

Will shot her that familiar devil-may-care grin over the unconscious body of a bandit he'd just hit with the hilt of his father's sword. "Protecting my home, my family and the friends who stand beside me, obviously." His face changed and Merilinn whirled to block another bandit who'd picked her out as easy prey. Her block was clumsy, but a burst of magic and the man was sprawled on his back, dazed.

The bandits were frightened and sloppy; they had not expected the villagers to fight back

with such force or with any kind of organization and it knocked them off-kilter. But Kanen was angry and dangerous, attacking with indiscriminate brutality, and his men took their cues from him. "There's too many of them," Will gasped, and Merilinn only said, "get behind me."

The whirlwind took a single moment, a single word. Where was Ursula? In the face of such impending slaughter, it didn't matter. Through the driving wind, Merilinn saw Kanen's horse spook. A flash of gold and a shovel tore from a villager's hand and clotheslined three bandits in the confusion. Others flew headlong into the drystack walls and did not move again. The villagers stumbled back, protecting their eyes, as a bundle of loose hay blew into the fire and caught.

At the sudden new blaze, those of Kanen's men who had not been incapacitated ran for the cover of the woods in defeat. But not Kanen. Enraged, he launched himself at Ursula.

Ursula had the deftness and energy of youth on her side, but Kanen had long years of vicious, hard-won experience, and he did not care that Ursula was a woman. He pushed her back, and back again, shoving her parries aside as easily as he might a child's. Merilinn could see on his face the moment when he thought he had won, the moment of rage and hubris against what he thought was an inferior opponent, and that was the moment Ursula drove her sword home.

There was a hard look on her face as she left Kanen to die in the dirt and approached Merilinn and Will. "The whirlwind," she said without preamble, "which one of you cast it?"

This was it, Merilinn knew. The moment she'd been dreading, the moment she threw herself upon Ursula's mercy, upon the mercy of the friendship that had bloomed, slow and unsteady, over the past months. But just as she opened her mouth to speak, to utter those fateful words, Will threw himself into action, shoving Ursula hard in the shoulder just as Kanen loosed a bolt from his crossbow.

He fell.

"Will?" Merilinn heard a voice say, and only afterwards realized it was her own, "Will?"

There was blood on her hands, and Ursula's, on the emblemed tunic that had been Will's father's, on the unforgiving shaft of the arrow that pierced his chest. "You saved my life," Ursula said, her voice unsteady, and Will gave her a ghost of the lopsided smile Merilinn knew so well.

"There, lad, easy now. We'll get you inside and see what's what, then." Merilinn's father and three other men took Will gently from their grasp and carried him to a nearby house. His voice was so steady, so assuring, that for a moment Merilinn had hope. Perhaps the mail had blocked the arrow from piercing to deeply. Perhaps the wound was superficial, for all it bled so.

Then Will looked at her, only at her, and she read death on his face as plain as words on a page. She thought he would speak, but he turned his attention to Ursula instead. "It was me," he said. "The whirlwind. It was me. I cast the spell."

"Will," Merilinn choked out, and Will's hand came out, blindly, and landed on her own, clutched on the side of the table.

"I'm a sorcerer," he said. "Only Merilinn knows. I swore her to secrecy, so you mustn't blame her. Promise."

Ursula's mouth worked as though she couldn't decide just what to say. In the end she said, in a surprisingly gentle voice, "of course."

Will bucked in agony, and Ursula pressed his shoulder, cast one last look at Merilinn, and left them alone.

"You idiot," Merilinn whispered. "You bloody great idiot."

"Is that how you talk to a man on his deathbed?" Will said, voice cracking.

"Will, please - "

"Listen, Merilinn, you were right. Okay? You were right to give her your allegiance. You're right to serve her. I saw it today. That's why I did what I did. She'll be a great queen one day. But you're great, too, and one day she's going to see why. You understand?"

"Yes," Merilinn whispered, "yes, I understand."

Will's body shook and he swallowed, hard. "I don't want to go. I'm scared."

Merilinn bent and gathered him to her as best she could. "There now," she whispered, "don't be scared."

She thought she heard him say her name, once, and then there was a sigh as if of great relief.

…

Merilinn stood next to her as if made of marble, watching her friend's body burn. She had removed the ill-fitting mail and wore her usual plain homespun, a brown kirtle over a blue smock and a faded red kerchief that held her black hair back from her face, as invariable a uniform as any peasant or servant, and yet uniquely her own, somehow. Ursula couldn't help but notice, even in as solemn a moment as this, that Merilinn stood out from the other villagers as certainly as a goldfinch in a nest of dunnocks. Just how or why, she could not say, but she was starting to understand why Merilinn had left this place, even if it meant leaving a father as fine as Balinor.

"I'm very sorry," Ursula said now.

The barest shift from one foot to the other was the only sign that Merilinn had heard.

"How long did you know?" she continued.

"About the sorcery?" Merilinn's voice was rough with unshed tears. "Since we were children. We were - he was - always so careful with it. So close to Camelot."

"You shouldn't have kept this from me," Ursula chided. She kept her voice gentle, but firm. "Magic is too dangerous. Something could have happened."

"Yes," Merilinn agreed distantly. "Something."


End file.
